


analog.

by sylvermyth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Android AU, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Canonical Character Death, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvermyth/pseuds/sylvermyth
Summary: Keith is a scavenger of discarded tech, playing against corporate interests to repair late models and sell them back to the market. One morning on a salvage run he hits paydirt--a nearly-complete android, fully functional, with just a few hiccups and superficial damage. If he can repair it, he'll be rolling in cash. But 5H1R0 is not what he seems, and Keith, normally wary of AIs, finds himself both confused and endeared by the android's painfully human behavior.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Posted as part of the 2018 Sheith Big Bang! My artist was the lovely [dmiurge](http://brunobucciarati.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art), who came up with some beautiful art for this fic! Thank you so much for your hard work to create art to go with this!!
> 
> Also, many many thanks (as ever) to the wonderful [caseyvalhalla](http://caseyvalhalla.tumblr.com), who not only beta'd this BEAST of a fic (holy hell how did it even become 50k??) but also helped me through just about every step of the creative process--with advice, feedback, suggestions, encouragement, you name it! I'm so glad we're friends, you're the absolute best, my dear!! <3 <3

It was trash day.

It was always trash day somewhere, the schedule rotating to accommodate the sprawling neighborhoods that made up Daibazaal, and on quieter days Keith would travel to other parts of the city on his hoverbike, trawling the streets in the small hours of the morning for useful odds and ends.  But Keith hadn’t had a quiet day in almost a full week, and he needed to clear his head as much as he needed to replenish his supply of scrap metal; trash day was the excuse he needed to go out into the streets, weathered canvas bag slung over his shoulder.  There had only been a light drizzle when he set out, but an hour later he was hiding in the shelter of a boarded-up doorway to avoid a sudden downpour.

He didn’t mind it, so much.  The sound of the rain was calming, the susurrus of it beating against the rooftops and the ground soothing away the anxious energy that prompted him outside in the first place.  Oddly, it reminded him a little of the desert where he’d grown up—midnight sandstorms of quiet solitude that he found himself missing, from time to time, when the sounds of the crowded city streets got a little too much.  At times like this they were deserted, the hour as much as the weather keeping most residents confined in their homes. Keith leaned against the door frame, eyes drifting closed to let himself sink into the sound.

Without visual stimuli, his ears caught other noises under the rush of the rain—a siren far off in the night, and from somewhere nearer—Keith pried an eye open, catching the sound of a plaintive cry. He might not have heard it, but the rain was starting to let up enough that the weak meow cut through the heavy air, and Keith straightened, tilting his head to pinpoint it. There was an alley few steps from Keith’s makeshift shelter, and he ducked his head against the rain as he approached it, peering into the darkness.

Another soft cry emerged, and Keith blinked until the dark shapes in the alley sharpened, eyes prickling as his implant activated and enhanced the definition of several trash piles. He scanned side to side, not detecting any movement, so he shifted his focus to inspect the piles more thoroughly, ears alert for— _there_. Another meow, closer, and Keith clucked his tongue in an attempt to draw the cat out from wherever it was hidden, slowly stepping towards the source of the sound. He still couldn’t see anything except junk—not even a useful bit of circuitry, he noted—but he began digging through it, careful not to topple whatever shelter the cat was hiding under.

His mouth tilted in a wry smile as he automatically cataloged the garbage he pushed aside, and his initial assessment of junk was correct, but his objective had shifted, and in any case his bag already weighed heavy, the metal inside making a muffled clank when he set it aside. He could scavenge more later—for now, there was a cat stranded out in the rain, and Keith couldn’t simply leave it there.

“Hey buddy, just hang in there,” he murmured.  He pursed his lips, tugging at a bit of soiled tarp that had caught and prevented him from digging further.  It came loose with a suddenness that startled Keith, but in the cavity revealed beneath was a small, fuzzy shape, and Keith’s lips curled up in triumph. “There you are.”  Even with his implants it was hard to tell its condition without proper lighting, but it squirmed when he reached to pick it up, and that at least was reassuring—that and the sudden increase in the frequency of its meows meant that it at least had a fighting chance.  And it indeed had fight left in it, needle-sharp teeth and claws just barely breaking through the leather of Keith’s gloves.  He jerked his hand back reflexively, jostling the trash pile.

It was a bad move.  Debris shifted, slid, and Keith scrabbled at it before it buried the kitten.  The result was messy, and Keith groaned as his fingers brushed something slimy, shuddering, but he’d sorted through worse, and it was worth it to reach the kitten without the threat of a trash-avalanche.  It still sunk its teeth into him, but he was ready for it this time, drawing the little guy to his chest so he could tuck it into his jacket.  It stopped struggling a moment later, perhaps realizing it was finally safe and warm, and Keith patted his bundle gently.  “There, see?  Not so bad, right?”  He tugged his jacket more securely around the kitten and turned to retrieve his bag, but something caught his eye.

Keith blinked, drawing his implants’ focus to it, not sure if he was processing the sensory input correctly.  But the image didn’t change.  There, unearthed by Keith’s adventure in the pile of junk—a hand.

It looked human, and that was mildly disturbing, but Keith had found worse things in overflowing dumpsters. It was much more likely tech, a discarded prosthetic, and Keith jolted, excitement thrilling through him as he rushed to drag it out of the heap, one hand cradling the kitten bundled in his jacket as he moved. So many people just threw things out once they acquired the latest model, and frankly it was a waste, not to mention that there was always someone who couldn’t even afford last year’s model.

That was what kept Keith and others like him in business: repairing and extending the lives of outdated tech to cater to those who didn’t have the luxury of tossing out tech the second a new model dropped. The legality of it was still questionable, what with Galra Industries claiming that unauthorized repairs were detrimental to their business—but that was a load of shit, and Keith didn’t have a reputation for playing by the rules.

It meant digging through garbage in the rain in the middle of the night, but finds like this were worth it. Keith gave the limb a tug, but quickly realized that it wasn’t going to budge—certainly not with only one hand, but Keith didn’t want to drop the kitten. Probably it was caught on something, and he awkwardly pushed at the trash with his free hand, kicking away the larger pieces with a muddy boot.

There was more than just a hand.

Keith quickened his pace, using a little more care to uncover his find as it became clear that it wasn’t just some tech. It was an entire body, human and lifelike enough that to an untrained eye—or even without Keith’s ocular implants—it might’ve been mistaken for an actual corpse. Even so, it was more than a little unnerving when Keith’s fingers brushed against its skin, cool to the touch and lifeless but as pliant as living flesh.

Keith let out a low whistle once he’d completely uncovered it. It could nearly pass as human, or would’ve, when it was new. As it was, extensive damage exposed intricate circuitry and wiring where the skin had been broken: an even slash across the bridge of its nose, more jagged gouges on the torso, and the stump of the right arm, trailing the frayed edges of wires. As an android, it was a piece of artistry. Male, with an ideal physique, strong jaw and handsome features, and Keith couldn’t help but admire it.  He’d seen his share of sex bots and utility droids, engineered to mimic humans in order to create realistic interactions, but he’d never seen anything quite as beautiful as this.

And he’d found it in the trash.

Keith lifted the edge of his jacket to smile down at the kitten. “Did you want me to find this?” It was silly, really, and Keith wasn’t really the type to believe in destiny or the hand of fate or whatever form of divine intervention was in vogue right now, but he had to admit that it was a happy coincidence. Keith turned his attention to the android, sizing it up. “I’m gonna get you all fixed up and pretty, and you are going to make me a lot of money,” he announced.

Logistically, it was not going to be easy getting his scraps and the kitten and an android bigger than himself back to his workshop, but Keith had strength and determination on his side, along with a healthy dose of stubbornness. He refused to leave any of his night’s finds behind—the kitten because it didn’t deserve it, the bag of scraps because he’d spent hours collecting it, and the android for obvious reasons.

At least the streets were still deserted, saving him the trouble of navigating traffic and crowds with the weight of the droid slung precariously over his shoulders and the kitten cradled against his chest. He’d never been more grateful for a street-level flat, or the industrial shop door leading into his workspace, and he braced the droid against the wall as he fit his hand against the scanner to open it.

Once inside, Keith hauled the droid over to an empty workbench and dropped it there. It was awkward, one-handed, but there wasn’t any damage he could cause that would be worse than it had already sustained, and in any case he was able to fix it up. Was already looking forward to it, really, because it would be a challenge, looking for whatever had caused the thing to fail, finding a replacement for the arm, and repairing the surface damage.

But that would come later.

With much more care, Keith opened his jacket and set the kitten next to the droid, groping to switch on the desk lamp. It was black—or covered in dirt—with wide yellow eyes blinking up at him, still small and kitten-clumsy, and Keith felt himself soften all over, rubbing a finger between its ears. “I bet you’re hungry, hm?”

Keith himself was still uncomfortably wet and smelly, desperately in need of a shower, but he was weak to those big eyes, so he settled for shucking just his coat and turning to the pantry for a can of food for it.

Predictably, he heard the pat pat pat of Red running a moment later, and Keith was already braced for the affronted look she shot him, already moving between her and the new kitten. Red hissed, the fur along her back standing up, and Keith rubbed a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. But what was I supposed to do, leave it out there?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “What if I’d done the same to you, huh?” Red wasn’t convinced, baring her teeth in another hiss. Keith rolled his eyes. “I didn’t raise you to be like this, you brat. I don’t know where you get it from.”

He made a show of ignoring her, but still grabbed two cans of food and set one out to occupy Red while he took care of the kitten. It mollified Red, a little, though she still grumbled at him, and when she finished she came over to investigate. Investigating apparently involved swiping claws at the kitten, and Keith batted her away. “Stop it. Be nice.” She gave another disgruntled hiss before slinking off. Keith called after her, “I don’t like you either!”

It was childish, maybe, but Red was a cat, so she couldn’t judge him for it.  Or rather she was always judging him, it seemed, so another point would make no difference, and Keith shrugged her off in favor of bathing the kitten.  It was black, after all, and not just dirty, and Keith tapped it on the nose as he dubbed it “Black.”  It wasn’t so much a lack of imagination as it was his idea of a joke, to simply name pets after colors and earn the puzzled looks of his clients when he told them, and Keith smiled to himself at the thought of it.

He settled Black in the bathroom so he could keep an eye on the kitten while he cleaned himself up.  He tossed his soggy clothes aside to be dealt with later and finally, gratefully, slipped into the shower.  Red was still giving him dirty looks later on, when Keith settled into his bunk, Black tucked against his chest, and he glared in response before turning his back to her.  Still, by the time he was drifting off to sleep, she was curled up in her favorite spot in the corner of his bed.

.o.

“I thought you said you weren’t taking on any more projects until you finished all your work orders.” Pidge was barely through the door before she started grousing, Hunk close at her heels. “Isn’t that why you sent Slav our way?” She leveled him with a look that could potentially kill, and Keith crossed his arms in defense.

“This isn’t for a client. Besides, it’s just a diagnostic so I know where to start, what parts to find. You know how it is.”

“You know, some of us find parts the old-fashioned way,” Hunk interjected. “From a supplier? You know, the guy that can find the exact part you need right away, instead of waiting for someone else to throw it out? Oh, hi Red!” Hunk bent down to scoop her up into his arms, ignoring the claws she tried to swipe at him as he scratched her chin.

Keith raised an eyebrow at Hunk. “I’d rather not waste my money.”

“Whatever, man, you’re missing out.” Hunk juggled Red a moment longer before she squirmed away, disappearing further into the shop. “Aw. Keith, your cat is just as sweet as you are.” He shot Keith a saccharine smile.

Keith bared his teeth at him. It was friendly, their usual good-natured ribbing, and he almost felt bad for sending Slav to Hunk and Pidge. Almost. He glanced over to where Pidge had set her equipment on one of his work benches, completely at home despite the mess, focus on the case she flipped open.

“So, what’ve you got for me, grease monkey?” She was still intent on the holoscreen that had lit up in front of her, but Keith was certain she noticed his scoff at the nickname. He was just as certain that she had half an eye on him to see where he was pointing.

He’d moved the droid a little deeper in the shop after he woke up. He couldn’t explain why, but it was unsettling to see it in a heap by the door, so instead he’d propped it up to sit against a wall. And then draped a blanket over its lap, against dust and dirt, or so he told himself. Or maybe for Pidge’s sake, so she wouldn’t get an eye-full of android junk while she worked.

(Never mind that Pidge and Hunk took repair jobs on sex bots just as often as Keith did.)

“I found him in trash last night, while I was out for a walk.” Black was curled up on the blanket in the droid’s lap, and Keith felt his lips twitch up at the corners. “That little guy, too.”

“Ah, no wonder Red’s so fussy today,” Hunk said, at the same time that Pidge let out a low whistle.

“You found this in the trash?” Pidge peered at Keith over her glasses, giving him full eye contact. “You’re sure you didn’t get a delivery from Lance?”

“Pidge.” Because, really.

Pidge flapped a hand at him, and turned to kneel next to the droid. “No, you’re right, you’re right. Lance wouldn’t give this guy up, no way.” She prodded the undamaged shoulder and let out a thoughtful hum. “He’s pretty enough on the outside, but I wonder what kind of brain he’s got.” Pidge cracked her knuckles and stood, turning to tug her case closer.

Hunk propped his hands on his hips, giving the droid a cursory glance. “I don’t think I’ve seen this model before.”

Pidge shook her head from behind the holoscreen, hands tangled in wires. “Me neither, but it could just be a custom skin. I’ll find out once I’m actually inside and get a look at the programming, serial codes, et cetera.”

Hunk hummed, his eyes dropping to Black, who was blinking owlishly at the three of them. “Come here, little buddy, you don’t want to get in Pidge’s way. Even a cutie like you isn’t safe from her wrath.”

“Hey! I heard that!”

Keith chuckled. It was one thing to have clients in his shop, getting under his skin, demanding, wheedling, whining, but Hunk and Pidge were practically family. “You hurt Black and I’ll hurt you.”

“You’d hit a girl?”

“You named him Black? Keith, buddy, do you have no imagination?”

Keith lifted his hands in a shrug to both questions.

Pidge started a clinical examination of the droid, diodes cupped in one hand and wires draped over her shoulder for quick access. “Of course he has no imagination, he won’t even—huh.” Her gaze snapped to Keith, a suspicious smile spreading over her face. “No imagination, because he can’t ever see these as anything other than machines.” Pidge adjusted her glasses. “But maybe he just needed to meet the right one. What, did you think he’d get cold, Keith?” Her lips pulled back to show teeth, her grin mocking. “Or were you just intimidated?”

Keith pursed his lips. “What are you even talking about?”

Pidge turned down the edge of the blanket over the droid’s lap, cackling. “He’s not that impressive.”

Hunk leaned over to look, Black cradled in one arm. “Still, you gotta admit he looks pretty good.”

And Keith had seen, so he knew, yeah. And he wouldn’t admit it, but it almost felt…invasive, for them to be speaking so flippantly about his droid, pawing at him. He turned to busy himself with a small bit of circuitry, his back towards Pidge and Hunk. “It’s just so it’s handy, to cover him up. I’m not going to sell him until he’s repaired, I don’t want any customers to get nosy.” It was a poor excuse, and he knew it. If anything, he should display the droid, try to garner interest, maybe even a buyer to sponsor the repairs.

“Sure,” Pidge said, drawing out the word, voice pitched in sarcasm.

Keith frowned down at his circuit. “I’m not interested in sex bots. It’s not that far-fetched.”

Pidge made a noncommittal sound. “To be honest I’m not even sure your boy here _is_ a sex bot. I mean, he’s anatomically correct and probably fully functional, but I don’t think that’s his primary purpose.” There was a low tap tap of her fingers on a keyboard, and Keith glanced over his shoulder to see that she’d stuck diodes on the droid’s skin, wires trailing to a handheld computer. “If I can just…” she trailed off, face illuminated by the glow of the holoscreen. “There should be a bar code and a model number somewhere on him, even if he’s got a custom skin, I just have to find it. I’ve set the diagnostic running, so it should find any damage to the hardware, and it’ll compile all I need to know about the OS.”

“Whatever.” Keith huffed a sigh and set down his circuit, a restless energy crawling just under his skin prompting him to pace, picking up various half-finished projects only to set them back down again. Hunk had settled into a chair, trailing an unused cord across the floor for Black to chase, but he raised a silent eyebrow when Keith passed him for the third time. “What?”

“Nothing.” Hunk twitched the cord, smiling when Black pounced on the end of it. “At least I know if I ever got thrown in the trash, I could count on you to drag me back out and adopt me.”

Keith frowned at him. “I only collect useful things.”

“Cats aren’t useful,” Pidge piped up from behind the holoscreen.

Keith huffed. “They hunt mice. They attract customers. I’d call that useful.”

“Yeah, he’s got a point, Pidge. People love fluffy animals.”

Pidge waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “We’re not putting any cats in the shop.” Hunk groaned, but the sound went unheard because Pidge was straightening up, excited. “Aha! I think I found the model number. 5-H-1-R-0?”

Keith moved to look over Pidge’s shoulder, where she was pointing a scanner at the tiny barcode printed behind the bot’s ear. “That doesn’t sound familiar.”

Pidge glanced at him, then back at her handheld. “Normally I’d say that didn’t mean much coming from you, but in this case you’re right.” She tilted the handheld until her holoscreen showed the results of the bar code scan. “There’s no record of this model in our database.”

“Just because I’m not a technophile doesn’t mean I’m not keeping tabs on the market,” Keith muttered.

Pidge ignored him. “Hm. Well, it’s definitely Galra tech, see here,” she pointed at a stationary window on the holoscreen; behind it, text shifted constantly, forming and reforming in a steady stream of data. “The basic hardware is pretty standard—skeletal components, musculature, it’s all the same stuff I see in Galra droids, with a few small modifications, but it looks like it’s stock, not a customization. The circuitry’s a little different than I’m used to, too, and it looks like that’s what caused the initial shut-down—there’s heavy damage along these sectors.” Pidge tapped, and another window popped open with a digital model of the android, red highlighting the damaged circuitry.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult to fix.” Keith pursed his lips, snagging a bundle of wires off of a table, scanning for the tools he would need.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Hunk, take a look at this, tell me what you see.”

Keith paused in his search to join Hunk in hovering just behind Pidge to stare at the digital model, now enlarged. “Huh. Zoom in more?” Pidge complied, and Hunk nodded. “It looks…organic?”

Pidge nodded emphatically. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, like someone was trying to replicate a human nervous system. They used to try that back in the early days of droid development, didn’t they?”

Keith glanced between Pidge and Hunk, trying to follow the rapid exchange.

“Yeah but they couldn’t build an AI that had enough processing power for all of the sensory feedback.”

Keith interjected, “You think that could be the problem here?”

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “It’s hard to say. Maybe? I’ve never seen a design like this before, it’s almost…analog in nature.” She tapped at her handheld. “They certainly didn’t skimp on the processors, either. If I were to guess, I’d say they’re some kind of prototype.”

“You’re kidding, right? Why would someone just throw this in the trash?” Hunk gestured at the droid’s missing arm. “Even with the damage, someone wouldn’t just throw it away.”

Keith shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He’s mine, now, and I’m not giving him up without a payout.”

Pidge hummed. “That might not be the best idea. What if someone’s looking for him? Or even if they aren’t—you know Galra Industries is just waiting for an excuse to shut people like us down. They could claim you stole it. I wouldn’t even put it past them to plant something like this to lure us in.”

Hunk groaned. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much, even for them?”

“I don’t know, okay,” Pidge snapped, brow furrowing. “All I know is that Sendak’s lawyers have been finding a _lot_ of reasons to be loitering outside our shop, and I haven’t heard from Dad or Matt in weeks.” Her hands skittered across her keyboard furiously. “They were consulting on a project for Galra’s R &D, and then? Radio silence. I. Don’t. Trust. Galra.” She punctuated each word with a button-push, mouth pressed in a tight line.

Hunk put his hands up in a placating gesture. “I know, you’re right.” Hunk nudged Keith. “Maybe keep this one under wraps for a while, yeah?”

“Yeah, whatever. I wanted to get him fixed up before selling him, anyway, and that’s not going to happen overnight.” Keith fiddled with his handful of wires, frowning. It would be a complication, if the droid was a plant, but there were ways to avoid attention, when he was ready to sell. It wasn’t his usual method, but he could make an exception.

“No, it’s not.”  Pidge turned to stare Keith down.  “I should be able to get the QE core operational today, so you can at least interface with the software, talk to it, whatever, but on the condition that you keep him under the table for now.”  She raised a speculative eyebrow at Keith. “Or under the covers. I won’t judge.”

Keith scowled at the implication. “Just get it up.”  Hunk and Pidge erupted in laughter at that, and Keith stared at them.  “What? What’s so funny?”

“You,” Pidge chortled, teeth bared in one of her smug grins.  “Eager, huh?”

Keith’s brow furrowed.  “To make money? Yeah.”

Pidge turned back to the droid, cackling harder, and Hunk clapped Keith on the shoulder, breathless.  “Nothing’s funny, buddy, nothing at all. Never change, alright?”

Keith crossed his arms with a huff.  “Just hurry up, Pidge.”

“You can’t rush genius,” she sniped back.  “You didn’t even acknowledge my terms yet. I need an explicit agreement, or I’m not doing it.”

Keith’s mouth thinned with impatience, but he nodded.  “Yeah, this stays between us for the time being.”

“Alright.”  Pidge singled out one of the wires trailing from her handheld, and repositioned it on the android’s temple.  “T-minus ten seconds until we get to meet our new friend, Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

Pidge shrugged.  “It rolls off the tongue a lot better than 5-H-1-R-0.  Here we go, he should be waking up now.”

Waking up was...a surprisingly accurate description, Shiro’s eyes blinking slowly into focus, and though the rest of him was still unmoving, Keith couldn’t help the breath he sucked in, surprised at how much the grey eyes breathed life into the droid. It was…a tiny shift in expression, and the way the droid seemed to be studying his surroundings, eyes darting between Pidge and Hunk and Keith.

Pidge eyed her holoscreen, and then Shiro. “Identify serial number and model specifications.” When no response came, she frowned. “That’s strange. The scan didn’t detect any damage in communication operations, so he should at least be able to talk back.” She tapped at her handheld, brow furrowed.

“Maybe the QE doesn’t have access to the other systems?” Keith settled his weight against a table, arms crossed over his chest.

“No, the QE was completely untouched, all of the connections registered correctly on the scan. It might just be a lag.” Pidge scrolled through her data stream, glancing between it and Shiro. “Identify serial number and model specifications.” Nothing. “Let me try…” Pidge trailed off, and the shop was quiet for awhile, Pidge bent over her handheld, Hunk fawned over Black, and Keith hid his fidgeting under the guise of working.

Pidge’s commentary grew more and more frustrated, dotted with curses, as the minutes ticked by, until finally she let out a guttural noise and slammed a hand against the table. “This doesn’t make any sense! There’s nothing coming up on the scans, he should be responding to commands, but all he’s doing is staring at me.”

Hunk piped up. “It is kind of creepy, like his eyes are following me.”

It was unusual, Keith could admit. Their work on droids and sex bots should’ve desensitized them to this—Keith especially was good at ignoring the empty stares of the machinery that came through his shop. But Shiro’s gaze was alert, at odds with the stillness of his frame.

Pidge rubbed a hand over her face, stepping away from Shiro. “I need a break. Keith, I’m going to copy the diagnostics so I can analyze the data back at our place. I’ve also uploaded the results to your database, although I’m not sure how useful they’ll be.”

Keith pursed his lips. It wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t going to push Pidge. If there was nothing to be done just yet, then that was that. He shrugged. “That’s fine. Thanks, Pidge, I really appreciate it.”

Hunk stood up from where he’d been giving Black a good-bye pat, grinning. “You know we like a good challenge.”

Pidge elbowed him, mouth set in a thin line. “If you appreciate it, you’ll pay the going rate.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but this, too, was typical—unnecessary dramatics. “All you did was a diagnostic.”

“It’s true, and besides, Keith is a friend! He gets the friend discount, Pidge!”

Pidge waved a hand from where she was packing up her equipment. “Fine, whatever. Diagnostic with a friend discount. I’ll invoice you.” She straightened long enough to pull Keith into a one-armed hug. “But I expect a full payout next time.”

Keith made a dismissive noise and patted her back awkwardly, and then they were saying their goodbyes, and his shop was empty again.

It was quiet, but Keith still had work orders to finish, and the droid—Shiro, his mind supplied helpfully—was only a side project, unfunded, and still unmoving in his spot against the wall. His gaze was still attentive, though, and Keith briefly considered deactivating him, or maybe covering his face in an attempt to escape that piercing look—but he was stubborn. Shiro was just an android. Not a person, not sentient, so the notion that he was watching Keith was ridiculous.

“You’re no different than a toaster,” Keith muttered. The fact that he felt the need to remind himself spoke volumes about how lifelike Shiro was, and nothing else.

It didn’t take long for Keith to get lost in his work, tangles of wires and circuit boards and ever-versatile silicon the building blocks of it all. His projects were mostly mechanical in nature, gadgets and appliances and prosthetics—he could handle the circuitry well enough, and even most of the software, but he sent the smaller, more sophisticated jobs Hunk and Pidge’s way. Despite the prevalence of practical droids, their jobs had yet to be replaced with a robotic counterpart—primarily because Galra Industries’ business model didn’t leave room for repairs. Keith was fairly certain most of their products weren’t built to last beyond the time it took for the next model’s release.

There were ways to extend the life of tech, though, and Keith took pride in knowing he was good at it.

It was quiet work, and Keith liked it that way. The silence was peppered with the occasional commentary, directed at Black—because Red was still sulking, curled up in her faded Hello Kitty box under one of his work tables. He ignored her—”Look, kiddo,” he said to Black, “I gotta stand my ground or she’ll never learn she’s not the boss here.” His eyes flicked to Shiro, and he wondered if it was a trick of the shifting light of the sunset that made it look like the droid had tilted his head. Keith frowned and shook his head. “It’s more like…a partnership.”

He paused a little later to eat—a helping of a casserole of some kind that Hunk had brought him as a matter of course—and opened up Shiro’s diagnostic. Pidge and Hunk had integrated their own algorithms with some existing software, and Keith still didn’t know all the specifics of the programming—he knew enough to read it, and that was all he needed, anyway. Still, Shiro’s stats had his brow furrowing as much as Pidge’s had.

“Well,” Keith announced, “I can at least repair the circuitry.” He tapped his boot against the ground, idly teasing Black. “Maybe Pidge’ll turn something up on the soft side of things.” He turned to face Shiro, frowning. “Hopefully soon.  It’d be easier if I could actually communicate with you.”  Keith tried not to think about how…human it sounded.  It was for the sake of practicality; if Shiro could communicate what errors needed the most attention, it would make it easier for Keith to repair him.  “You _are_ pretty hot.  For a toaster, I mean.”

Shiro, as expected, didn’t respond, and Keith huffed out a sigh.

He settled on his knees on the floor in front of Shiro, giving the physical damage a thorough examination for the first time since bringing him home.  Pidge and Hunk had looked over him, already, and the diagnostic had given a readout on the damage but…Keith was a more hands-on guy.

He found himself hesitating, though, before tracing one of the skin tears.  It was one of the ones on Shiro’s chest, because Keith couldn’t quite bring himself to study the gash across his face, not with those eyes watching him.  It was just too intimate, somehow.  Not the mindless stare of the droids that usually came through his shop, but something else, almost alien in how human it was.

“Stop it, Keith,” Keith muttered.  To himself.  He was talking to himself.  “It’s better than talking to a machine that won’t even respond to commands.  Well, it’s a work in progress, you know?”  He patted Shiro’s chest, admiring the soft-firmness of his pectorals, the smooth skin covering it.  “I appreciate this craftmanship, though.  Really, I do.”

The heaviest damage was obvious—Shiro’s missing right arm.  The skin was torn and ragged, synthetic flesh and neural system inert and partially blackened.  Where the rest of Shiro hummed faintly in reaction to his QE core, this area was quiet.  Nestled in the mass were frayed wires by the dozens, including a couple prominent ones that Keith recognized from the virtual model.

Keith held a thick black cord between his thumb and forefinger.  “You must’ve had some heavy hardware attached to this.”  He frowned.  “Probably was a shock, having it removed from the network.  I wonder what it was?”  It was unusual for a droid to deactivate from non-threatening or superficial damage, and most wouldn’t respond so harshly to the damage Shiro had sustained…but Shiro was more sophisticated.  That much was obvious, and perhaps the damage to his arm had been threatening.

Keith felt a pang of protectiveness at that.  In general, he didn’t approve of his tech being mishandled, but imagining Shiro’s arm so crudely removed made his mouth tighten.  “You just don’t tear shit like that off, you know?  Like look, you’re a good-looking guy, there’s no need for all that.  If they went so far to make you pretty, they could’ve been a bit more careful with you.”  He patted Shiro’s shoulder reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, I’ll fix you up and treat you right.”

It occurred to him that sometime between the night before and now, he’d decided not to sell Shiro, despite what he told Pidge and Hunk.  Despite what he insisted on telling himself.  Just, it didn’t sit right, the thought of Shiro going off into someone else’s possession.  In any case, this wasn’t exactly a job Keith did for the pay.  Whatever price Shiro might attract would be a nice bonus, maybe for emergencies, but Keith had to admit that having some extra help around the shop, even just grunt work, would be worth giving it up.

Keith chanced a glance at Shiro’s face, to find grey eyes studying him thoughtfully.  It made his breath catch.  Would it really be so bad to want a companion around that wasn’t a cat?  Someone who could talk back?

“I don’t need to justify keeping you,” Keith told Shiro.  “But I’d have to put you to work.”  He frowned.  “If I just knew what you could do…”

“I cannot access that information.”

Keith startled violently, leaping his feet and brandishing the knife he kept tucked in his belt on reflex alone, the movement too fast to be rooted in thought.  His heart was racing, pounding in his chest, and he nearly choked as he sputtered out, “What the fuck?”  He saw Red, in his peripherals, just a rapidly retreating tail, and Black looking on with wide, confused eyes—but nothing else.  Which, of course it could have been no one else—just Shiro.  “What the fuck,” Keith repeated, focus shifting forward.

He didn’t have any other speech-capable tech in the shop, so it had to have been him.  Just, generally he was aware whether or not these things were active.  Technically Shiro _was_ , but aside from his shifting grey eyes, he’d been silent until now, and Keith had expected him to remain that way.  Keith frowned, relaxing only marginally, adrenaline still keeping him on high alert.  “Have you—how long have you been on?”

Shiro blinked once.  “I was activated three hours, forty-one minutes, and fifteen seconds ago.”

Keith lowered himself back to the floor, but didn’t tuck his knife away.  He didn’t have a clock nearby, and he hadn’t been keeping track of the time while he worked, but—probably, that meant that Shiro had been on ever since Pidge restored the QE core.  “Okay,” he said slowly.  “Alright.  Shiro.  Identify serial number and model specifications.”

Shiro didn’t respond for several seconds, only stared blankly, and Keith was beginning to think that Shiro’s initial response had been a fluke, but then Shiro’s brow furrowed.  “I cannot access that information.”  It was a good approximation of confusion, Keith mused, both the tone and the expression.

Keith tried again.  “Directive?”

Shiro’s response was less delayed, this time.  “No current directive assigned.”

Keith sighed.  “Okay, so you don’t know your specs, and you don’t know what you can do, and you have no directive to drive your actions.”

“I am unable to access the network.  Where am I?”  Shiro’s eyes were still the only thing moving, aside from his mouth, as he glanced around Keith’s workshop again.

Keith frowned.  Maybe it was in Shiro’s programming to orient himself, though that kind of programming usually went hand-in-hand with a directive that would prompt him to return to…wherever he’d come from.

Then again, he’d found Shiro in the trash, so maybe wherever he’d come from didn’t want him to return.

Which, really, Keith couldn’t understand.

Keith shrugged, finally tucking his knife back in his belt.  He sank onto his heels to observe Shiro, hands braced on his thighs.  “You’re in my shop.  Delta Sector—not the best neighborhood, you know, but it’s home.”

“Your home,” Shiro clarified.  “This is...a repair shop?  You’re repairing me.”  Shiro’s face scrunched in confusion again.  “It is against protocol to allow repairs.”

Keith felt a flash of anger.  “Well, that’s bullshit Galra propaganda.  Of course I’m going to fix you, it would be a waste not to.  And—this is _your_ home now.  I found you and I’m keeping you, and I fix the things I keep.”  He stood and crossed his arms, frowning and doing his best not to read into Shiro’s expressive eyes.  “Adjust your protocols accordingly.”

“Authorization required.”

Keith pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed.  If Shiro still needed authorization from...whoever...it was something that would require Pidge and Hunk’s help to go back and reset.  But also, he was curious about where Shiro had come from, and having a name would be a start.  “Authorization from who?”

Keith tried to remind himself that the way Shiro’s eyes moved was an indication that he was _processing_ , not _thinking_.  Then again, if Keith was going to keep him around, would it really be so bad to humanize him?  ( _Yes_.  Emphatically yes.)

Keith’s own thoughts were interrupted when Shiro spoke again.  “Authorization accepted.  Protocols adjusted to allow for repairs.”  Shiro looked up at Keith and _smiled_ , and even with the gash across his nose it was devastating, beautiful and real enough to make Keith’s stomach clench. “Thank you for allowing repairs, Keith.”

Keith blinked, trying to follow the thread of the conversation up to Shiro’s thanks.  He supposed that meant that Shiro had accepted _his_ authorization, and probably Keith should’ve been more worried about whoever had previously been designated for authorizing changes, but he was too disarmed by Shiro’s soft, appreciative expression, and the sound of his name in Shiro’s voice.  He frowned and reminded himself that Shiro was just a robot.  _Thank you_ with a smile was probably the default response to commands, and of course Shiro had picked up his name while Pidge and Hunk has been over.  It wasn’t anything but mechanical, just like everything else he’d ever worked on.

Not to mention that there was an entire industry dedicated to making mechanical fuck toys.  Shiro was just another one of those.

Keith wondered how long he could hold onto that excuse, or when it would turn into a justification.  His frown deepened.  “Alright. Well, now that you’re allowing repairs, where do I begin?  Are there any functional problems?”

“Most neural and sensory functions are offline.  I am currently unable to carry out physical tasks.  Neural repairs are high priority.”

“Right.  Okay.”  That made sense.  It explained why Shiro hadn’t moved or reacted except through vocalization so far, and having him mobile would make it easier to conduct repairs.  The scan had shown Shiro’s neural center at the base of his skull, the configuration as similar to a human as the rest of him.  Go figure.

Keith had to drag Shiro away from the wall to be able to reach it, and it was strange to do so, now that Shiro was conscious.  Keith ignored it, ignored how warm Shiro’s skin felt under his fingers (machines generated heat—it was basic thermodynamics), ignored the elegant line of Shiro’s neck in favor of finding the mechanism that would give him access to the delicate wiring there.  He had to blink to activate his optic implants, once he did, because the connections were even finer than he’d expected, barely distinguishable without the extra magnification.

There was nanotechnology that was capable of creating such minuscule, sophisticated networks, but it was rarely wasted on androids.  Keith could probably work with it—he had steady enough hands, and fine tools, and just _there_ , he could see where several leads had disconnected.

“How’s that?  Can you move?” Keith asked, a few minutes later.  He at least hadn’t made things worse.  He hoped.

“Sensory input still offline.”  There was a pause, and Shiro shifted.  “Physical commands are now operational.  It is highly recommended that sensory input be repaired before further physical commands.”  Keith hummed in acknowledgment and fiddled with another connection.  Before he could check in again, Shiro jolted, grunting.  “Sensory input—sensory input malfunction.”  His even voice was strained, and Keith felt his eyebrows creeping up in surprise.

“What’s the problem?”  Keith was frowning, now; androids weren’t supposed to have _inflection_ , they stated facts and that was it.

“Sensory input overwhelming all other functions.”  Shiro was shaking, now, and Keith’s heart rate was rising in response, because _this did not happen_ , and _why did he sound_ hurt _?_

“Shiro, be still.”  Keith bit his lip as he waited for Shiro to respond, optic implants focusing on the lead he’d just connected, a hand braced against Shiro’s shoulder in an attempt to steady him.  “Is it the connection?  Is there an error?”  Shiro shuddered beneath his hand again, and it occurred to Keith, belatedly, that Shiro’s sensory input probably included…all of the damage.  Machine or not, the thought made his stomach curdle.  Keith’s thoughts came rapid-fire—he could completely disconnect the sensory input, but without it, Shiro could damage himself further, or hurt Keith.   _Who the hell gave an android a sophisticated neural system only to wreak havoc on it?_  “Can you adjust the, uh, sensitivity settings?  Can you lower them?”

“Yes.  Yes, please authorize.”

It was difficult to categorize Shiro as machine—to not humanize him—when he was pleading, his voice low with pain.  It was instinct, Keith told himself, to protect those weaker than himself.  “Yes, do it.”  Shiro calmed in increments, until he was slumped forward, one last shudder wracking his body, and then he was still.  He wasn’t breathing, that _wasn’t_ what the rapid rise-and-fall of his chest meant—it was normal operation, made to mimic human movement.

Keith sucked in a breath.  “Better?”

Shiro twisted to look at Keith, the gash across his face more stark than ever now that he was so animate.  It was bloodless, but somehow that made it worse.  “Yes.  Thank you.”

Keith studied Shiro for a long moment, that flare of protectiveness softening into something else that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Keith shook his head to clear it. “I, uh, I think I might have some skin grafts for some of the damage. And an arm—I might have something around.  Not as sophisticated as the rest of you, but.  Something serviceable.”  He was aware he was babbling, a reaction to Shiro’s... _everything_ , and he needed.  A moment.  It wasn’t cowardice that propelled him to the other side of the shop. Nothing like that.  It was simply where he’d left the skin grafts, carefully stashed in a series of drawers.

He’d barely opened the first one when a shadow loomed over him.

“ _Fuck!”_ He didn’t jump, quite. Not this time, but Keith still whirled and backed against the drawers, eyes wide as he stared _up_ at Shiro.  He was so tall, something Keith hadn’t been able to appreciate when Shiro had been slung over his shoulders, or slumped against a wall.

And naked. He was still naked, and anatomically correct, and _no Keith was not going to go there_.

“Do you also have a sensory input malfunction?”

Keith had opened his mouth to instruct Shiro to stay the fuck where he’d been, but instead he gaped for several seconds before sputtering, “What?  Why would you—why do you say that?”

Shiro tilted his head.  “You have an elevated heart rate, and your speech pattern changed.  Is there something else wrong?  Are you ill?”

“No!  Nothing is wrong.”  Keith huffed.  “I just need some space to work, alright?  Go,” Keith waved at the discarded sheet where Shiro had been moments before.  “Stay over there.”  Shiro complied easily, and Keith decided he really needed to find some pants that would fit him.

Keith turned back to his drawers, brow furrowed, and picked out one of the more versatile samples. The color wouldn’t quite match, it cured to look like scarring, but Keith wasn’t keeping Shiro for his looks.  (So he told himself.)  He set it on the nearest workbench before slumping over, arms braced against the wood.  Shiro was an unusual android, that was all.  He could deal with that.  And if he got attached, it would be fine, because Keith was going to keep him, anyway.

If Keith tried to explore his _other_ functions, well.  Maybe he hadn’t, before, but there was a first time for everything, and it wasn’t like anyone would judge him for it.

“Right.”  Keith cleared his throat and straightened.  “I can make a few patches for now, but I have to get back—“ he stopped, because when he turned back to Shiro, he was crouched down over Black. “Shiro,” he said slowly, “what are you doing?”

Shiro glanced at him, frowning.  “I was curious.”

Keith pursed his lips at Shiro’s word choice. _Curious_ , instead of _obtaining information_.  “Kittens are very fragile.  I don’t want you interacting with him until I’m sure your sensory input is set at the right level.”  If the setting was low enough that the damage wasn’t overwhelming the rest of his functions, it was likely Shiro wouldn’t be able to gauge his own strength.

But that was a problem for later.

“Sit down on the table.”  Keith pushed aside the clutter on the nearest table to make room for Shiro.  It was perhaps a bit superficial, but Keith wanted to repair the gash across Shiro’s face first.  Just, it was so unsettling, to see the exposed fiber-optics and synthetic flesh every time he looked at him, almost as much as the remains of his arm.

Keith tried not to think too much about how much the damage resembled human injuries.  It was an aesthetic thing, distracting.  That was all.

Shiro sat as instructed, though he was still so big, and Keith had to stand between his thighs to get close enough, had to reach up and tilt Shiro’s face down to get a better angle.  And maybe Shiro was an android, but Keith couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to another person, let alone someone so attractive, so it took effort to focus on the task at hand.

“It’ll take about half an hour to cure,” he murmured, just to remind himself what he was doing.  That he was smoothing a skin graft over damaged tech, and not something more intimate, despite the way his body was trying to react.  Keith fastidiously ignored it.

He was still shaping the material over one of Shiro’s cheeks when the grey eyes above the gash fluttered shut, and Shiro tilted his face a little more into Keith’s steadying fingers.  It was enough to steal Keith’s breath, because _what the fuck androids did not do that_.  Even sex bots needed instructions before initiating intimacy, and this...this felt intimate.  It made it all the more difficult for Keith to ignore his own reaction to their proximity.

“Your hands are warm.”  Shiro’s voice startled Keith, enough that he reflexively drew back, and Shiro’s eyes reopened.  His gaze was as soft as his voice, but of course Keith was only imagining that.  Keith pressed his lips together, and smoothed down the last edge of the graft.

“You can still sense temperature?” Keith asked, stepping back to examine his work.  “Even with the adjustment to the sensory settings?”

“I only adjusted to account for damage signals.  It was unnecessary to adjust other sensory levels.”

“Oh.”  That made a surprising amount of sense.  Satisfied with the now-whole skin across Shiro’s face, Keith moved to another of the more superficial cuts.  It was a simple enough process:  mold the material over the damage, ensuring it adhered to existing skin, and then let it cure.  Once he moved away from Shiro’s face, it was easier to fall into the rhythm of the work.  There were places that the damage was less superficial, and Keith catalogued them, making a mental note to go over those later, to see what he could salvage.  It was likely that a lot of damage had been done to sense receptors, and Keith didn’t have anything nearly so complex as the rest of Shiro to fill in those gaps...but they weren’t necessary functions.  The missing arm would be his next priority, in any case.

“You know, it kind of suits you,” Keith said.  He gestured at the pink line still curing across Shiro’s face.  “It’s a lot better than exposed fios, anyway.”

Shiro tilted his head. “Thank you.”

[art by the amazing dmiurge](http://brunobucciarati.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art)

It was still somehow strange to hear Shiro say that, but Keith shrugged it off.  “Anyway that’s about all I can do for you right now.”  Keith patted Shiro’s thigh before he remembered that he was still nude.  “Uh, I’ll get you some pants tomorrow, first thing.  And then we’ll see what we can do about this arm.”

Shiro glanced down, and then back up at Keith. “Does my nudity make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”  Keith didn’t elaborate, because there was no need, and he was fairly certain the heat in his cheeks was from embarrassment at the fact that a machine was making him uncomfortable.  Maybe.

By now, though, it was becoming clear that Shiro was in a class all his own.  Whoever had made him had been a master of mimicking human life.

“I apologize,” Shiro murmured into the quiet that had descended in the shop once more.

At least they’d programmed him with manners, Keith thought wryly.

“I have to get back to work.  And I’m expecting a client later, I don’t want them to get curious so.”  Keith turned and retrieved the sheet, offering it to Shiro.  He was surprised when Shiro accepted it without further prompting, but he quickly filed it away as a _Shiro Thing_ and continued.  “You’ll have to stay in the back until after they’re gone.  Do you have, like, a hibernation function or something?”  He didn’t want to have to shut Shiro off entirely, to avoid any hiccups in that process.  And now that Keith had seen Shiro operational, the thought of him being lifeless again was disturbing in a way that Keith didn’t want to think about.

“I have a sleep mode.”

“Yeah. Okay, good.  Come on, then.”  Keith stepped towards the back of the shop, waving for Shiro to follow.

‘The back’ was through a door in the rear of the shop that led into the cramped apartment that barely qualified as a living space, consisting of Keith’s bunk, his tiny bathroom, and a kitchenette.  He rarely used the kitchenette, except for the dingy coffee maker and microwave—the latter primarily for heating up instant meals.  The rest was used as often as practicality dictated, as it wasn’t unusual for Keith to curl up in a chair in the shop, rather than his bunk.  It wasn’t really an accommodating space for guests, with one rickety chair that didn’t match the scuffed table, but it suited Keith just fine—except it left limited space for Shiro to be.

Well. Shiro wasn’t exactly a guest.  He was a machine, and he didn’t require creature comforts, so.  “You can go into sleep mode back here while I take care of today’s orders.”

“Okay.”  Shiro’s gaze swept over the small apartment, assessing, before he settled on the chair, posture perfect and straight-backed.  He draped the sheet over his lap, and Keith nodded, satisfied.

“Right.”  Keith closed the door behind him, and then locked it for good measure.

Now that Shiro was operational, he was a constant thought in the back of Keith’s mind as he worked. It was how he did his best problem-solving:  set it aside and let it stew on the back burner as he worked on other projects.  He knew he had something that would work as a replacement for Shiro’s missing arm, but it would be crude.  Shiro deserved better, something that would meld well with the rest of his functions without risking lag or compatibility issues.

So when Lance dropped by to harass him—that is, to barter for Keith’s better finds and cajole him to buy Lance’s own—Keith crossed his arms and begrudgingly and asked for a late-model prosthetic.

Lance’s face settled into something smug, mouth in a wide smirk, and he dropped a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder.  “Keith, my buddy.  My man.  You know I can get whatever you want.”

Keith didn’t bother shrugging him off, just raked him with a suspicious glare.  “But…?”

Lance’s smirk widened into a sly grin.  “But nothing, buddy!  I’m just surprised, is all.  You don’t bring me much business—“

Keith did shrug him off at that, stepping back to glare at Lance properly.  “You buy from me all the time!”

Lance’s hand hung in midair for a moment before he waved it dismissively.  “That’s different, you know.  I _mean_ , when was the last time you put in an order of your own?  What’s the occasion?  Got a finicky client?  Give Lancito all the juicy details!”

“No.”

Lance’s expression shifted, less smug now.  “Aw, come on.  If you tell me, I’ll give you a discount.  You’re asking for a pretty recent model, you know it’s not going to come cheap.”

“I know.”  Lance pursed his lips, but before he could say anything else, Keith said, “I need a part.  That’s all you need to know.”  If Lance knew about Shiro...well, he knew how to keep a secret, but that didn’t mean he’d keep his mouth shut.  He’d probably find out eventually, but Keith wanted to keep his peace for as long as he could, not to mention his promise to Pidge.

“Man, you’re no fun.”  Lance pouted, but Keith was immune to most of his antics, and the gesture had no effect.  “Fine.  But don’t expect it right away.  I have a method—“

Keith sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just get me the part, Lance.”

Lance’s pout drooped even more, until it could be classified as an all-out sulk, his crossed arms almost a mirror to Keith’s own.  “All right, all right. I’ll get your part.  I’ll need at least twenty percent up front, though. And I’m not bartering with your trash finds for this.”

“I don’t have anything you’d want anyway.”  Keith uncrossed his arms and dug out his battered wallet.  “How much?”

“Four hundred up front.”

Keith hissed out a curse.  “Seriously!?”

Lance lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug.  “Or you could just get it yourself at full price.  Two-k is a steal, and you know it.”

Keith huffed, but handed over his credit chip.  “Just make sure it’s fully functional.”

Lance winked and grinned, swiping for his credits.  “When have I ever let you down?”

Never, was the answer, but Lance was enough of a headache without feeding his ego, so Keith didn’t bother saying so.  “Keep me updated,” he said instead.

Lance handed Keith’s chip back.  “You’ll have an ETA by tomorrow.”  He paused long enough to glance at Black, who had come to twine between Keith’s feet.  He pursed his lips and glanced between Keith and the kitten.  “Another one, huh?  I’ll knock a hundred credits off if you let me have him.”  Lance bent to pet Black, cooing.  “He’s such a cute little guy.  Allura would love him.”

“Lance.”

“Hm?”

“Get out.”

Lance straightened and scrunched his nose.  “Yeah, fine, Mr. Grumpypants. _Bye_.”

Keith breathed a sigh of relief once Lance was gone, his truck rumbling down the street.  Lance wasn’t a bad person, just...a bit much. More than Keith usually had the energy for, and today was no exception. It was one of those days that he knew was going to end with him bent over his drafting table with a cup of coffee, drawing up new designs and modifications just to give himself an outlet.  Shiro’s repairs would probably benefit from it, anyway, so he’d be killing two birds with one stone.

The thought of coffee drew him back to his apartment.  He still had some time before his client was expected and—

Shiro was not, as Keith had expected, in sleep mode at the table. Or on the bed or the floor.

Keith froze, because not only was Shiro _not in sleep mode_ , but he was also standing in the kitchenette with his back to Keith, sheet tied around his shoulders like a cape, and—and—

“What the fuck?  Why are you eating crackers?”

Shiro closed the cabinet door he’d been peering into and turned to face Keith. He was making that perplexed expression again, and Keith couldn’t decide if it was worse now that the skin graft had cured into a light pink scar across his face, rather than the exposed fios.  Probably made worse, especially with crumbs at the corner of his mouth, and on the counter behind him, a half-eaten sleeve of saltines.  Shiro smiled, small but still too devastating to belong to an android.  “Hi, Keith.  My algorithms determined that this was the least critical food item available.”

Keith blinked, trying to process the words, but it still didn’t make any sense.  “No. No, that’s not what I meant.  I mean, why are you _eating_?”

Shiro stared at him for a long moment, fiddling with the edge of the sheet—thankfully it covered the important parts—before replying. “Power reserves are below fifty percent.  I need biomass to restore energy.”  Keith gaped.  “I do not need complex nutrients. This is sufficient.”

“Right.  That explains it,” Keith muttered.  It really didn’t.  Or, well, it _did_ , sort of.  Biomass hadn’t been adapted as a primary source of energy in factory machines, as far as Keith was aware.  Then again, Shiro wasn’t exactly factory.  “Aren’t you solar-powered, though?”

“You instructed me to stay in this area.”  Shiro gestured around the small space, which lacked windows.  “You did not indicate the length of time, so I took precautionary action.”

Keith stared.  He found himself speechless, and shook his head, turning to his coffee maker.  “Next time your power reserves are low, tell me.”  The motions of scooping grounds into the machine and filling it with water were automatic, and Keith glanced back at Shiro.  “Also, don’t eat all of my crackers.  What the fuck.  You don’t eat people’s food without asking.”  Keith was aware that he was grumbling more to himself than Shiro, at this point, but it was the principle of it.  Keith lived alone for a reason.

“I’m sorry.”  Shiro’s voice was quiet enough that it was nearly lost under the gurgle and sputter of Keith’s coffee maker.  When Keith looked over, his face had drawn into a small, dejected frown.

“No, look,” Keith found himself saying, “I’m not angry.”  The revitalizing smell of coffee suffused the room, and Keith reached for the nearest mug, glancing at it to make sure it was clean.  Why was he even bothering to explain himself?  It was just a programmed reaction; Shiro didn’t need to be _reassured_.  And yet Keith had.  Was.  “You just should’ve told me, okay?”

Well, what the hell, what kind of android just _did_ things without being instructed and without a directive, anyway?

“Okay.”

Keith shot him another wary glance.  “Do you have enough energy, or do you need to eat more of my crackers?”

“Power reserves are above fifty percent.  It is sufficient for several hours.  I will notify you if reserves drop again.”  Shiro glanced at the crackers still on the counter, and Keith wondered if he needed to instruct him to put them away.

He shrugged, still too astounded by the fact that Shiro had been _eating_ to give much thought to errant crackers just now.

“Alright.”  Keith collected his coffee, and impulsively reached across Shiro for a handful of crackers for himself.  “Don’t get into trouble while Bi-Bo-Bi’s here.  That guy’s kind of shady sometimes, I don’t trust him not to get nosy.”

Keith breathed a sigh once he was back out in the shop.  Relief, maybe, or exhaustion, he couldn’t really decide.  He usually enjoyed a challenge, but those challenges didn’t usually include androids that he had difficulty distinguishing as such.  Either Keith was slipping, or Shiro really was that good.

Keith preferred to blame it on Shiro.

Bi-Bo-Bi’s order was already finished, so rather than continuing any mechanical work, Keith made a beeline to his drafting table, setting his coffee within reach.  He ignored the half-finished drawings already spread across the surface of the table and flipped open his sketchbook. There were pages filled with studies he’d done of Red, caricatures of clients, doodles—but he flipped past those for a fresh page.  He let his hand move without much thought, lines taking shape until they resembled a scrap yard he’d seen once, back in the desert, tangles of wires and useful parts and rusted metal and grubby silicon.  It was something he’d never found in or near the city, no matter how hard he looked, but Keith drew a city skyline in the background, anyway.  As an afterthought, he added a hoverbike in the foreground, all sleek lines and liberally customized.  There was something satisfying it, in defying reality with art, the same way it was satisfying to give discarded tech new life.

He had switched to a new page to detail the hoverbike when Bi-Bo-Bi arrived, and Keith huffed a sigh at the interruption.  He reminded himself that he could lock up after this, enjoy some quiet solitude until his eyes were too heavy to stay open—he just had to be patient.

Once he was alone again, he did just that, losing himself in scratchy pencil lines.  The drawings turned more practical as the day’s tension eased.  His coffee cup ran dry, and he left it where it was, next to another one, and he made a mental note to gather them all up to take to the sink...at some point.  He drifted around the shop, putting finishing touches on a housekeeping bot, laying out the pieces of a newer project, and pausing now and then to give Red and Black his attention.  It was a typical day—

Except that when he trudged into the back apartment, Shiro was still there.

Doing push-ups.  One-handed push-ups.

It didn’t matter that the activity had no benefit to his physiology—it was _hot_.  The perfect ripple of muscle under skin, and Keith watched for a long moment, appreciating how perfect Shiro was, even with all of the unrepaired damage still marring his skin.  Keith debating asking Shiro _why_ he was doing push-ups, but decided it was a futile effort, because whatever answer he gave would probably still leave Keith miffed.  His best guess that it was a subroutine, like an idle animation, to make him more lifelike.

(It was definitely working.)

Keith blinked out of a daze, his eyes heavy, and his bed was looking more inviting by the moment—even more inviting than the image of Shiro’s flexing muscles.  He didn’t want to think of his bed and Shiro’s muscles in the same span of thought, so he cleared his throat.  “You can spend your sleep cycle out in the shop.  I’m going to bed.”  He shuffled to the other side of the room and shimmied out of his pants, reminding himself that Shiro didn’t care what he looked like, or what he was wearing (or not wearing).  Being without pants was top priority, in any case.

“Okay. Should I set a timer?”

Keith glanced over his shoulder to see that Shiro had climbed to his feet and was looking at him.  He frowned. “No, I’ll wake you.”

A beat passed before Shiro responded.  “Right.”  The door swung shut behind him when he stepped out into the shop.

Keith paused to scoop up Black before turning back to his bed and sliding between the sheets.  Red joined them a moment later, and Keith took it as a sign that her mood was improving. 

He was just on the edge of sleep when the sound of the door creaking open startled him, eyes wide and alert as he shot up in bed. Red darted off the bed at the disturbance, Black trailing behind, and Keith scowled at the hulking shape in the doorway, little more than an outline in the low light. “What is it, Shiro?” His voice came out sharp, coarse with the sleep that had been yanked just out of his grasp.

Shiro shuffled further into the room, the movement stilted and awkward, and Keith’s scowl softened into a frown, already mentally cataloging the day’s repairs, wondering if he’d missed anything, made an error—Shiro’s low voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “I am unable to access my sleep cycle.”

Keith heaved a sigh, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to ignore the throb of his head at the thought of troubleshooting when he wanted to be sleeping. “Do you know why? What’s wrong?”

“It is due to environmental interference,” Shiro replied, though there was a lilt to his voice that hinted at uncertainty.

Keith rubbed a hand over his face, huffing. A problem to deal with later, then. “Is there any interference in here?”

There was a pause. “No.”

“Right. Fine. You can sleep in here.” Keith tucked his knees back up on the bed, turning to curl on his side. It was a little weird, now, though, with Shiro standing a few feet away, shifting minutely. Barely a minute passed before Shiro spoke again.

“Keith. Environmental factors are…” he trailed off. “Inadequate to initiate my sleep cycle.”

Keith twisted to look at Shiro, patience wearing thin. “Then _what conditions_ _do you need_?”

Shiro shuffled closer. “A bed?” His voice was still colored with uncertainty, and Keith rolled all the way over as he rolled the query over in his mind. Shiro was still damaged, he surmised. That had to be the explanation, for…whatever. For why Shiro’s responses had a questioning tone, for why he was having trouble accessing his sleep cycle.

“There’s only one bed,” Keith grumbled, staring up at the ceiling. He certainly wasn’t going to give his bed up to a _fucking robot_.

“Alright.”

_Right._ Keith closed his eyes, letting out a long breath of relief now that that was settled. In the morning he would have to—

His thoughts cut off as the bed dipped with the knee that Shiro had braced on the edge, and then his hand, heat radiating from it so that Keith could feel him across the small distance that separated them. Shiro’s face hovered just above his own, and Keith nearly choked, his heart racing, and he wasn’t sure if it was surprise or fear or something else, but he didn’t want to examine it too closely.

“W-what are you doing?” Keith sputtered, pinned in place by the same thing that was making his heart pound.

“You said there is only one bed.”

This close, Keith could make out the features of Shiro’s face, even in the darkness. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “That—” He hadn’t meant—he hadn’t meant that they could _share_ the bed. Keith scowled and decided he was too tired to deal with this, right now. Logic was beyond him, and he grumbled a begrudged “ _Fine_ ,” before turning his back to Shiro. “Just go to sleep.” Keith did his best to ignore Shiro as he climbed the rest of the way into bed, and he might’ve succeeded.

But then Shiro’s bare chest was pressed against his back, his arm coming to drape around Keith’s waist, and Keith’s breath caught. “Shiro?” If there was an edge of panic to his voice, well. It was alarming, to be spooned by an android.  At least to Keith.

More alarming was that he _felt human_ against Keith’s back, and if Keith had to blindly determine that Shiro was a droid, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to.

“This is adequate,” Shiro murmured, close to his ear.  “I can initiate my sleep cycle now.”

Keith fell asleep forcibly reminding himself of the circuitry that ran under Shiro’s skin, even as he relaxed into Shiro’s unassuming embrace.


	2. Two

Keith found time to work on Shiro’s repairs between projects, though his capabilities were limited. Mechanical, physical things he could fix, but the soft side of things was more Pidge and Hunk’s area of expertise, especially with an AI as sophisticated as Shiro’s.  Hunk had answered Keith’s holocall and assured him that they would come as soon as they were free—except Pidge had just gotten a potential lead on her missing family and they were in the middle of a complex project for Slav, and he didn’t have to say more for Keith to nod his understanding.  So he wished them luck and did what he could for Shiro. 

Keith wasn’t sure if dressing Shiro in clothes was better or worse than him wandering around nude.  He was attractive no matter what, and the clothing added to the illusion that he was _a person_ , rather than an android.  With the exception of his arm, Keith had managed to repair all of the superficial damage, so that there were no exposed fios or circuitry to break the illusion.  On top of that, Shiro spent the better part of his time bonding with Black.  The kitten didn’t seem concerned with what Shiro was, or the fact that Shiro could easily crush him by accident.  Keith frowned to hide his amusement whenever Black tried to climb the leg of Shiro’s pants, and put Shiro through a gamut of tests to gauge his input sensitivity and control.

When Shiro’s repairs weren't the center of Keith’s attention, Keith put him to work. There were plenty of menial tasks that couldn’t be automated—at least not with Keith’s resources—and it was almost amazing how quickly Shiro picked up on everything Keith taught him. _Almost_ , because of course a machine could perfectly learn tasks if it was given the proper instruction.

Shiro didn’t seem hindered by his missing arm. Or so Keith had thought, at first, until he found himself studying Shiro one afternoon.  He moved fluidly, yes, but there was a slight tilt of his shoulders angling the wrapped remains of his right arm away from the task Keith had given him.  It wasn’t noticeable until Keith saw it, and then he couldn’t _not_ see it.  It was just programming, he reminded himself, to prevent further damage and nothing more.

Still, no matter how much Keith tried to convince himself otherwise, Shiro was...different.  Not just more advanced, more human-like, but something _more_.  It was more than a little frightening to think about, so.  Keith _didn’t_.

Lance delivered the replacement for Shiro’s arm a day ahead of schedule, sauntering into Keith’s shop with a crooked grin and a sleek black case.  Shiro was sitting out of the way, teasing Black with a bit of string, and Keith made an effort to not glance in his direction and draw Lance’s attention to him.

Keith scowled at Lance from behind the old, broken-down sentinel that was his latest commission.  “I’m not paying extra for an early delivery, Lance.”

Lance waved him off.  “It’s fine, buddy, don’t worry about it.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.  “Nothing is free, _buddy_.  What’s the cost?”

Lance strolled over to Keith and set the case on a clear space on the table, resting a proprietary hand on it.  “ _Well_ ,” he said, drawing the word out, “it may or may not be a little...hot, if you know what I mean.”  Keith narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, Lance rushed on, “But it’s because this is even better than the one you asked for, I thought you would appreciate it!”

Keith huffed.  “The whole point of asking _you_ to get it was to avoid attention.”  Still, he unfolded his arms, drawn toward the case.  Lance’s grin widened, prompting Keith to mutter, “I’m still not paying extra, especially if it’s hot.”

“Of course not.”  Lance’s fingers danced across the surface of the case until he was pushing the button to open it.  The mechanism was smooth and quiet, and Keith could really appreciate the aesthetics of new tech, even if he preferred to tinker with older models.  “You didn’t specify a skin for it, so I figured you’d be fine with the base model,” Lance supplied.  Keith nodded absently, reaching out to test the texture of the material, because no matter how much Lance annoyed him, he knew Keith’s preferences, and the silver and black prosthetic nestled in the case was exactly what Keith would’ve chosen himself.  Sleek, like the case, shiny new tech just waiting to be put through its paces.

Keith could see Lance’s gloating smile in his peripheries, but pretended not to notice.  He retrieved his credit chip and passed it to Lance, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to be done before he could fit Shiro with the prosthetic.

“So,” Lance said casually, “you gonna tell me who convinced your mullet-head to go for fresh tech, instead of one of your trademark jerry-rigs?”

“No.”  It wasn’t a lie, exactly, because Shiro hadn’t asked for a replacement arm. It was just part of the repairs, and Keith was disinclined to fit him with something that might not interface well. (It was an excuse and he knew it.)

“Hm.”  Lance passed Keith’s credit chip back, that mischievous glint still in his eyes. “Well—“  Lance cut himself off, his gaze shifting over Keith’s shoulder, and Keith didn’t have to look to know that Shiro was making his way over.  He could tell by the series of expressions dancing across Lance’s face: eyebrows shooting up, narrowed eyes, and then a look of understanding, and Keith did his best to school his own expression into something neutral before glancing over his shoulder.

Shiro paused a few steps away.  “Keith, can I have some crackers?”

Keith frowned, puzzled.  Shiro had said earlier that his power reserves were sufficient for the day—but he couldn’t tell if Lance had realized Shiro was an android, and he wasn’t about to bring that fact to Lance’s attention if he hadn’t.  He made a mental note to run another diagnostic on Shiro once Lance had left.  “Yeah, they’re in the cabinet.”

Shiro nodded and glanced at Lance, and then at the prosthetic resting in its case. “Is that for me?”  He took a hesitant step closer, his brow furrowing.  “Keith, this is not compatible.”

Keith was hyper-aware of Lance watching their exchange with interest, and sighed inwardly.  There was no use in hiding this much, at least.  “I know.  I have to reconfigure it.”

Shiro nodded.  “Alright.”  He flashed a small smile at them and turned to head to the back of the shop.

Lance waited until Shiro disappeared behind the door before breaking into a huge, lecherous grin.  He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, “So _that’s_ what you need this for.  I can’t say I blame you, but man, Keith, he’s out of your league, buddy.  But hey, maybe this nice new tech will win him over.  Need any pointers?  You know, they don’t call me Loverboy Lance for nothing—“

Keith snapped the case shut on the prosthetic, cutting Lance off.  “ _Lance._ Either make yourself useful, or get out. I’ve got work to do.”  He pointedly turned back to the sentinel he’d been working on when Lance had first come in.  There was no sense in arguing that Lance had the wrong idea; if anything, it was a relief that Lance thought that Keith was trying to impress Shiro, because it meant he had mistaken Shiro for a human.

Lance put his hands up, placating. “Fine, fine, I get it. You don’t want my help.  That’s what I get for caring.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets, slouching, and slunk back toward the shop entrance.  “See if I bring you new tech again.”

“You will if it means you get paid,” Keith muttered, but Lance was already climbing into his truck.  Keith shrugged and fiddled with the wiring on the sentinel for a moment longer, before sighing and turning to follow Shiro.

A quick diagnostic left Keith frowning at Shiro, puzzled, because there was _nothing wrong_.   It was becoming a regular occurrence that Shiro’s behavior had no logical explanation.   At least, not logical by a machine’s standards, and Shiro was not forthcoming with any logic of his own.  Keith didn’t dwell on it, and instead chalked it up as another one of Shiro’s quirks.

He had orders to fill, projects that took priority because they kept his belly full and his bills paid, and any issues in Shiro’s programming or physical state was a problem to take care of later. Still, the case containing Shiro’s replacement arm gleamed invitingly from its place on his table.

It was late when Keith was satisfied that he’d done enough for the day, and finally let the case draw him in.  The prosthetic was meant to be attached to flesh, but a few modifications would make it compatible with inorganic material, and Pidge had given him an algorithm to handle hot merchandise (he didn’t know the details except that it _worked_ ), but it would take time.  Keith hunkered down at his table, already prepared to snatch sleep in the shop in between processes.

He had already opened up the tiny access panel on the prosthetic when Shiro appeared at Keith’s elbow, Black tucked carefully in the crook of his arm.  “Keith, it is time to sleep.”

“I’m staying out here,” Keith muttered distractedly, shooing Shiro towards the back.  Shiro nodded his understanding and retreated, and Keith let the rest of his surroundings drop away as he wired the prosthetic up to his tablet.

So he startled when a hand rested on his shoulder, jerking him out of his hyperfocus.  Shiro offered him a rueful smile and drew his hand away.  “You didn’t respond.”

Keith set his tools down and crossed his arms.  “What is it, Shiro?”

Shiro’s brow creased faintly, his lips pursed.  “I...can’t sleep.”

Keith blinked. “Is there something wrong with your sleep cycle?”

Shiro frowned.  “Conditions are not optimal.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, mentally cataloging any changes to Shiro’s sleeping conditions.  “Nothing has changed,” he grumbled, “unless you count me being out here.”  Shiro nodded, and Keith’s eyes widened. “You’re fucking kidding me.”  He shook his head, not sure what to do with that information, or even if there _was_ anything he could do about it.

(A part of him knew he was already used to sharing his bed with Shiro and that his absence would be felt, too.  It was only sheer stubbornness that kept him from admitting it.  Never mind that Shiro shouldn’t be having these kinds of issues.)

After a moment, Keith huffed, “Fine.  You can sleep out here, then. Or not sleep. I don’t care.  It’ll be handy having you right here once I get this configured.”

“Alright.”  Shiro shifted until he was able to watch Keith work over his shoulder.  “I do not require sleep,” Shiro said suddenly, “but it optimizes functionality.”

Keith pursed his lips, not looking back.  “Yes, I know.  That’s normal.”

“But living organisms require sleep cycles.  Keith, don’t you require sleep right now?  Maybe—“

“It’s fine,” Keith muttered.  “Sometimes I work better with less sleep.  Besides, tomorrow I’m going to be tied up meeting with Kolivan about a new commission, and I won’t have time to work on this,” he tapped the prosthetic for emphasis, “and I don’t want to put it off, especially if it’s hot.”  Keith’s mouth tightened. “Lance didn’t give me much choice.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”  He was still towering over Keith’s shoulder; Keith turned to look at him, and had to crane his neck to do so.

“It’s weird with you just hovering like that, Shiro.”

“Is it?”  Shiro pursed his lips.  “Should I get out of your way?”

“No, just. Pull up a chair if you’re going to,” Keith waved a hand vaguely, “loom.”

“I’m not _looming_ ,” Shiro protested, but he was smiling as he retrieved a chair and settled next to Keith.  Keith studied him for a long moment, and let himself see Shiro as something other than just a machine.  It was easier than he cared to admit; beyond that, he even he minded Shiro’s presence less than he did most people’s.

Keith felt a small smile pulling at his own lips as he turned back to his tablet.  “Alright.  Not looming.”

What difference would it even make if Keith had an android as a friend, in the end?  It wasn’t so different from talking to his cats, and probably even a little more socially acceptable.  And unlike Red and Black—unlike any other bot Keith had repaired—Shiro talked back with _agency_.  With character, rather than the flatness that Keith was accustomed to with AIs.  Keith mused over this as he initialized the first process for the prosthetic, and decided it would be fine, if it was Shiro, because Shiro was...Shiro.

Keith knew there were philosophical implications with that line of thought, but even the lulls in the configurations weren’t enough to explore those, even if he wanted to.  It was one of those topics better left alone (something he’d decided long ago), and it was reflected in the production of androids—there were strict regulations on AI interfaces.

It was probable that Shiro’s production hadn’t quite followed those guidelines…

“Have you been able to recover any memory from before I found you?”  Keith spoke quietly, most of his focus on his tablet.  It had been a while since he last asked;  no one was asking around about an advanced android, through public channels or otherwise, so he didn’t give it too much thought.  But whenever he _did_ think about it Keith’s curiosity spiked.  Maybe Shiro wouldn’t know the details of his production (it wasn’t something most bots could even access unless they were being serviced) but that still left the question of what happened to him between then and the night Keith found him.

“I have recovered some,” Shiro said slowly, and Keith perked up, watching him from the corner of his eye.  “But I cannot access them.  They are...corrupted.  Damaged.”  Shiro pressed his lips into a thin line, and Keith wondered when he learned to do that.  He was so expressive, and it looked natural compared to the exaggerated facsimiles typical of droids.  This wasn’t an expression he’d seen on Shiro before—drawn, troubled—and it made Keith’s own mouth turn down reflexively.

“Well, if they’re corrupted, it might be better to leave them be.”  His tablet beeped, drawing his attention back to it, and he tapped in an adjustment.  “This part may take a while.”

Shiro nodded, and Keith shifted deeper into his chair, intending to get comfortable enough to doze for a little while.  His eyes were already beginning to droop when Shiro’s voice dragged him back to the surface.  “Keith?”

Keith peered at Shiro from behind his hair. “Hm?”

“Can we go outside?”

“Sun’s not out, Shiro.  Are your power reserves low?”  Keith sat up. “Earlier you ate some crackers, too.”

Shiro hummed. “No, energy levels are normal.”  His brow furrowed.  “I...want to look at the stars.”

Keith blinked.  “You want to look at the stars,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Keith didn’t know how to react to that, so he just stared for a long moment.  “Right,” he muttered, and unfolded himself from his chair.  “Sure.  Why not.”

Shiro trailed behind him, quiet, until they stepped outside.  It was a clear, warm night, though it was difficult to see many stars with the light pollution of the city.  Keith blinked to activate his oculars, and though they weren’t quite high enough grade to give him a clear view, he could still see more of the night sky with them.  He gazed up and idly wondered when he’d last taken a moment to simply count the stars.

“It’s a lot clearer out in the desert,” Keith said quietly.  He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it, but it was safe to share the detail with Shiro.  “That’s where I grew up.  It’s open, no light pollution.  It’s beautiful, you can see a lot more stars.”

Shiro tilted his head beside him.  “Do you like stars?”

Keith flicked his eyes at Shiro and shrugged.  “Yeah, I guess. Figure it’d be cool to go up in space, but there’s too many rules around it.”

Keith caught Shiro’s smirk in his peripheries.  “You don’t like following rules,” Shiro stated, and Keith swore there was amusement in his voice.

Keith crossed his arms. “Just because someone made up some rules doesn’t mean they’re right.”  Shiro made a small noise, acknowledgement or agreement or something else, Keith didn’t know, but they fell into silence after that, just looking up at the night sky.

“I like them,” Shiro said, several minutes later—long enough that Keith had lost the thread of the conversation.  “The stars.  I like them.”  His tone was contemplative, like he wasn’t sure about what he was saying.  Keith stayed quiet.  Either Shiro didn’t know what his words— _like_ —meant, or...well.  It was another tick in the box that made Keith question everything he knew about AIs, made him all the more certain that Shiro was _more_.

Keith intended to tell Shiro he could stay outside when he moved to step back inside, but Shiro was quick to follow him back into the shop.  It should’ve made Keith falter, but he was beginning to grow accustomed to Shiro’s independence.  Instead he shrugged it off and got back to work, with Shiro sitting close by.  It was comfortable, having him there, and Keith found himself talking as he worked.  He told Shiro about the constellations, and about the stories they represented.  It was mostly useless information, but it was one of the brightest parts of his childhood, learning about them.  The memories were little more than an impression, now, and the melodic tone of a low voice, but the stories stayed with him.  Shiro was a better audience than Red had ever been, his face rapt with attention, interjecting every now and then with a question, like he was eager to learn, and Keith found himself smiling in response, small and secret, but a smile nonetheless.

He was in the middle of telling Shiro about Hercules when Shiro shifted without warning, warm hand sweeping some of Keith’s fringe back from his face.  It wasn’t the first time Shiro had reached out for him—he’d put a hand on Keith’s shoulder only minutes ago—but the gentleness of the gesture still surprised Keith, and he found himself turning to stare wide-eyed into Shiro’s steel gaze.  Shiro was so full of _life_ , and Keith could see it there in his eyes, especially this close (how had they gotten so close?), and it made his breath catch, made a shiver crawl down his spine.

But before Keith could examine the moment too closely, Shiro dropped his gaze and pulled his hand back.  “You kept shaking your hair out of the way,” he said quietly by way of explanation.  He glanced back up through his eyelashes, and Keith felt heat spreading over his cheeks.

“Right.”  Keith turned back to his work and pushed a hand through his hair self-consciously.  “Lance gives me shit about it.  About my hair,” Keith amended. He shrugged.  “But it’s just hair.”  He could feel Shiro’s eyes on him again as he fiddled with a mechanism in the prosthetic.

“I like your hair.”  It was so soft that Keith almost didn’t hear it, except Shiro was still very close—close enough to touch, if he leaned in a fraction more.

_Close enough to kiss_ , whispered a treacherous part of his mind.  Keith shoved the voice down and pointedly ignored it.

It was easy enough to pretend he didn’t hear it, with his back turned to Shiro.  Pretending wouldn’t fool himself, though, and Keith rolled the words over in his mind.  Shiro wasn’t supposed to _like_ things.  And yet he liked the stars, and he liked Keith’s hair, and Keith wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.  Better to just tap at his tablet and fiddle with wires, and check and double check that the prosthetic would be compatible with Shiro.  His mouth was pressed thin in concentration, and it barely registered that he’d stopped telling the tale of Hercules, because Shiro wasn’t prompting him to continue.

“Here,” Keith grunted some time later.  “I think this should work now.”  He stood and dragged his chair close to Shiro, on his right side, and settled back down.  “I’ll have to expose the—” _wires_ didn’t sound right, now that Shiro was...Shiro, and _stump_ didn’t, either— “the connection site.”  Shiro nodded and Keith began unwrapping the fabric around the remains of Shiro’s arm.

It was almost startling, to find the mess of wires under there, rather than scarred flesh, even though he knew what to expect.  Keith bit his lip, mentally chastising himself.  Of course it was wires.  What else would it have been?

“This would probably be easier if you were laying on a table,” Keith said suddenly, casting around the shop.  They were all cluttered with other projects, and he was already tired enough that clearing one off sounded like too much of a chore.

Shiro made the decision for him, a sharp, “ _No,_ ” making Keith’s attention snap to him.  His grey eyes were wide, his hand clenched where it rested on his thigh, and he shook his head to emphasize it.

Keith blinked at him, trying to wrap his mind around Shiro’s reaction.  He couldn’t, not really, and maybe it was because he was slow with sleep, but he wasn’t convinced.  He shook it off.  “Alright.  There’s not a clear one, anyway.”  Shiro eyed him for a long moment before he visibly relaxed and nodded.  “Right.  So you’re gonna have to hold this for me while I connect everything.”  He waited for Shiro to nod before he positioned the prosthetic, guiding Shiro’s grip until it was steady.

It wasn’t an easy task.  Keith had tidied the frayed ends of the wires preemptively, but there were a _lot_ of them, and he was running half on experience and half on instinct, and entirely on the cup of coffee sitting on the table.  He was hyper-aware of every time he shook his hair from his eyes, until the sweat beading on his forehead plastered it there and solved the problem for him.

He barely spoke as he worked, the task too demanding to do more than mutter when his fingers didn’t cooperate, or to direct Shiro to shift one way or another.

He finally dragged the back of his hand over his forehead, sitting back.  “It’s a temporary connection.  Gotta make sure everything is hooked up right before I wrap everything up.”  Keith frowned.  “That means full feedback from all sensory input.  It might overwhelm your functions again, so increase feedback in increments.”

Shiro’s expression hardened, but he nodded.

“I need you to walk me through any changes,” Keith murmured, voice soothing.  “And test the neural connections, make sure everything reacts how you expect it to.”

Shiro fixed his gaze on the prosthetic, his jaw tight.  After a moment, black fingers twitched, and then he was forming a fist with his new hand.  “Physical operation as expected,” he grunted.  He tested the range of movement, trailing wires and breath hissing between his teeth.  “Some--some connections aren’t secure.”  Shiro’s fingers brushed against the wiring, weaving through and pinching a couple.  “Here, and here.”  His voice was strained, and Keith winced in sympathy.  “Damage input is still at dangerous levels.”

Keith honed in on the connections Shiro had isolated, hands gentle.  “Shh, I know, Shiro.  I’m not done yet.  You can dial down the damage input again while I fix this.”

Shiro nodded, his eyes slipping shut as he sighed.

Keith swallowed down the lump in his throat and shut down his thoughts as he fixed the connections, and then began the last sweep that would make the arm permanent.  There were still gaps in between, where old met new, and because Keith was thorough, he filled in what he could before smoothing skin grafts over.

“It’s not perfect,” Keith croaked finally, voice rough with the need for sleep.  “I don’t have access to whatever compound they used for,” Keith rested the tips of his fingers against the swell of Shiro’s shoulder to illustrate his point, “the rest of you.  And it might still register as damaged.  I don’t know.  You’ll have to test it.  It’s not a good idea to just shut off your damage input, you know?  So I hope I fixed it.”

Shiro flexed his new hand again, quiet as he processed whatever inputs he was receiving.  After a minute, he looked back up at Keith, smiling.  “Damage input is within tolerance.  All connections are stable and operational.  Thank you, Keith.”

Keith pursed his lips.  “I wanted to eliminate the damage.”  It sounded like a pout to his own ears, but it was less petulance and more the thought of Shiro having to operate with what essentially equated to constant pain.  Which really shouldn’t have bothered him, but it was impossible to deny that Shiro’s reactions affected him, especially after being so close to him throughout the repairs.

Impossible to deny how much he was affected by the way Shiro’s eyes brightened and crinkled at the corners with his smile.

“It’s good,” Shiro insisted.  He tilted his head, eyes still sparkling.  “I’m...happy?”  He watched Keith’s eyebrows rise.  “Happy.  Yes.  It’s good.”  He lifted his new hand to rest on Keith’s shoulder.  “Now will you sleep?”

Keith blinked, feeling exhaustion settle over him now that his task was finished.  “Yeah.”

He was tired enough that he fell into bed without protest, and when Shiro slid in next to him, he hummed and burrowed into his side.  He registered Shiro’s prosthetic, coming to rest with the fingers curled lightly around his arm, and it made something warm and pleased bubble through him.   _I’m happy, too_ , was the last thing to cross his mind before Keith drifted off.

.o.

Keith groaned a protest into his pillow when his alarm chirped at him only a couple hours later.  He rarely kept normal hours, but Kolivan had a strict schedule and was only available for a limited time to go over the details of his latest commission.  For anyone else, Keith might've simply switched off his alarm and blown them off until he had a proper night's sleep, but Kolivan wasn't a typical customer.  So Keith made exceptions—partly for the money, but more because Kolivan and the Blades of Marmora opposed Galra Industries and sought to topple their technological monopolies.  And maybe a little because Keith respected Kolivan, from his own brief service among the Blades, and that was saying a lot.  
  
Keith grumbled as he forced himself to sit up, wiping a hand over his face to try to banish the dregs of sleep.  He was still blinking into full consciousness when he recognized the scent of fresh coffee, warm and bitter and welcome, and he looked up to see Shiro puttering around in the kitchen.  It was unfair for something—some _one_ —to be so attractive and then top it off by bringing him a mug of coffee first thing in the morning.  Keith felt the crack in his resolve against Shiro's charm widen into a fissure as he accepted the steaming mug from Shiro—cupped between two hands, like the prosthetic was novel (and maybe it was, a little).  
  
"Thanks," he croaked, breathing in the heady smell before taking a sip.  He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, relishing the first cup of the day.  When he opened his eyes again, Shiro was looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face, and Keith wobbled, still unsteady with fatigue.  "What?"  
  
Shiro smiled warmly.  "You like coffee."  
  
"Coffee is imperative.  I would not survive without it," Keith corrected, voice deadpan.  
  
Shiro processed this, his head tilted curiously.  "Documentation shows that coffee is not required to sustain the human body."  
  
Keith snorted.  "Maybe not."  His mind darted back to yesterday and Shiro's sudden interest in the word _like_ , along with other revelations.  "Yeah, I like coffee."   Shiro positively beamed at the confirmation, and Keith shook his head.  He slid out of bed and to his feet, careful to steady his mug.  "Kolivan will be here soon."  He swept a critical gaze over Shiro, trying to imagine him through Kolivan's eyes—Kolivan wouldn't say anything, but he was always watching, calculating, and he would _notice_ Shiro.  Now that Keith had repaired all of Shiro's damage, he was even less distinguishable as a droid, a fact that was as comforting as it was alarming.  "I want you there for the commission details.  I'm going to have you help me work on it and it'll be easier to just hear about it directly."  
  
Shiro flashed another bright smile.  "Alright."  
  
Keith shuffled to the kitchen to make a simple breakfast, sipping his coffee as he did.  Behind him, Shiro was already feeding Red and Black, gently pushing them away from the food bowls as he poured kibble. _I'm happy_.  Shiro's words from the night before lingered in Keith's mind, and he turned to lean against the counter and watch Shiro.  It was surprising how calm it made him, having Shiro here as part of his morning.  He wanted—  
  
The toaster popped and jolted Keith out of his reverie.  He flushed as he turned away, guilty, because he'd nearly followed that train of thought.  
  
Keith was fiddling with his tablet, double-checking readouts from Shiro's prosthetic, when Kolivan let himself into the shop.  He was a mountain of a man, bigger even than Shiro, which meant he towered over Keith, and that coupled with his perpetually stern expression should’ve made him intimidating.  Should've, but Keith was known to flirt with danger, and maybe that was why he and Kolivan got on so well.  "Keith."  
  
Keith glanced up.  "Kolivan.  I was just finishing this up."  
  
Kolivan looked between Shiro and Keith, his mouth in a thin line.  "You said you were free this morning."  His eyes narrowed as he studied Shiro, gaze falling on the new prosthetic.  "Another customer?"  
  
Keith frowned, tapping out of the diagnostics as he considered his words.  "No.  My new assistant.  Shiro.  He's been helping me with the shop."  
  
"Hello.  Nice to meet you."  Shiro flexed his prosthetic and offered it to Kolivan for a handshake.  
  
Kolivan folded his arms without responding, his attention returning to Keith.  "You know I have to ask.  Can he be trusted?"  
  
Keith's frown turned into a scowl.  "Yes."  
  
Kolivan grunted.  "I trust that you trust him.  I suppose that will have to be enough."  He accepted Shiro's hand and held it firm, and Keith knew the moment Kolivan realized what Shiro was, from the widening of his eyes, though he was as silent as Keith had expected when he released Shiro's hand.  
  
"So what have you got for me this time?"  
  
Kolivan retrieved a chip from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to Keith.  "There have been rumors about some new tech."  Keith didn't miss how he watched Shiro as he spoke.  "Our contacts in their R &D went dark a couple weeks ago, before we could get anything solid—"  
  
"The Holts," Keith muttered, mouth pressed thin.  Kolivan’s eyes widened marginally.  “Pidge,” he explained, and Kolivan nodded once, his expression settling.

“Our numbers are few, Keith.  You would make a difference.”

Keith focused on slotting the chip into his reader and studying the schematics when they appeared on a holoscreen.  “I’ll think about it.”  Keith’s attention shifted. “Shiro.  This takes priority.  Can you compare the schematics to what we’ve got in the shop?”

Shiro nodded.  “I’m on it.”

Kolivan shifted closer to Keith, nearly in his personal space.  “That’s a pretty new model, isn’t it?”  Kolivan jerked his head to indicate Shiro, or maybe the prosthetic—Keith couldn’t read the man as well as he would’ve liked, and it sent a flare of alarm through him.  “Not your usual style.”

Keith only shrugged in response.  “I know you didn’t just get me some production manual for what you need. What modifications are you looking for?”  He glanced over to make sure Shiro was paying attention as Kolivan rumbled out a response.

Keith was already sorting through a pile of scrap parts with Shiro’s help when Kolivan spoke again, his voice soft.  “We lost Ulaz.”

Keith started, turning.  “What?  When?”

Kolivan studied his hands where they were spread on the table.  “Two weeks ago.”

“You’re sure?”

“We received an encrypted communique.”

Keith bit his lip.  “Kolivan, I’m sor—“

Kolivan cut him off, his voice taking on a hard edge.  “He knew the risks.”

Keith grit his teeth. “Still.”

Kolivan gathered himself up to his full height, and now Keith could see the set of his shoulders, more rigid than usual, that spoke of the loss of his friend.  “We could use you, Keith.  Please consider it.”

Keith bit back a sigh.  "I'll have this done in two or three days.  I'll let you know."  Kolivan made a noncommittal noise and turned to the door.  "Take care of yourself, Kol."

Kolivan spared him a glance before he left, the edges of it soft.  "You as well."

Kolivan was quiet as he slipped through the door of the shop, and Keith stared after him in a daze for a long moment.  Shiro's voice dragged him out of it.  "Who's Ulaz?"  
  
Keith turned back to Shiro and the puzzled expression on his face.  "A friend.  He and Kolivan were close.  He was doing good work."  He let out a sigh.  
  
"He's...dead?"  Shiro frowned, his brows drawn together.  
  
Keith turned back to sorting through the scraps to busy himself.  "Yeah.  It's...I don't know what he was doing, exactly, Kolivan wouldn't tell me, but it was dangerous."  He rapped his knuckles against the table, harder than he should've, but he ignored the pain.  "Galra Industries is dangerous.  They can't be trusted, even if they say what they're doing is for progress."  
  
Shiro blinked at him, his frown deepening.  "I'm Galra tech, aren't I?  Am I dangerous?"  
  
Keith fixed Shiro with a sharp look.  The correct answer, Keith knew, was yes.  But Shiro didn't feel like a threat, not to Keith, not to Red and Black—not in a way that he knew Galra Industries to be dangerous.  The danger with Shiro lay in how human he appeared, and acted, and how Keith's defenses were rapidly dropping when it came to him.  Keith gave him a weak smile.  "You're just you, Shiro.  How could you be dangerous?"  
  
Shiro dropped his gaze.  "I don't know."  
  
Keith pursed his lips.  He wanted to reassure Shiro, a compulsion that Keith was becoming more and more accustomed to when it came to Shiro.  "Hey, I'm your admin, right?  You're not dangerous.  I wouldn't let you be."  
  
Shiro glanced back up, his head tilting to one side.  "Yeah."  
  
"Don't worry about it.  Come on, help me get this stuff together."  
  
Shiro was quiet, for the rest of the day.  It was a change from his usual barrage of questions and sharp curiosity, and Keith couldn't help but notice it.  He filled the silence, instead, like he had been used to before he'd found Shiro, and it felt strange.  But Shiro was as attentive as ever, and happy to put his new arm through its paces.   
  
Keith watched him with a critical eye as he scratched Black under the chin, and then turned his attention to pat Red on the head when she demanded it.  Shiro gauged his strength properly, earning affectionate purrs for his efforts, and Keith couldn't help but smile.  "The sensory input on the new arm is good?"  
  
Shiro glanced up at him.  "Yes.  It's almost indistinguishable from the rest of my inputs."  
  
Keith nodded.  "Good.  How's your power reserves?  Are they adequate to handle the requirements for it?"  
  
Shiro stood and held his right hand out to Keith, palm up.  "It is very efficient.  Power reserves are at acceptable levels, but not at full capacity."  
  
"Alright."  Keith bit his lip, considering.  He needed to go on a scrap run, and it was dark enough that Shiro wouldn't stand out if he brought him along.  "How good is your night vision?"  
  
Shiro tilted his head.  "I can parse visual input as well in the dark as I can in full light."  
  
"Good.  We're going out, come on."  Keith grabbed his jacket—red and white and maybe a little too flashy but it was one of the few things he was attached to—and led Shiro outside.  He paused to activate the lock, and the thought occurred to him to give Shiro access to it in the future.  The thought made him linger a bit longer, because that would mean Shiro would be going out without an escort, and Keith surprisingly didn't mind the thought.  Shiro could pass as human and would be a good resource if he hit the bars to discreetly listen in on conversations—  
  
Assuming no one was actively looking for him.  It had only been about a week, but it was long enough for someone to scrub through surveillance cameras.  Not long enough that Keith could dismiss the possibility.  
  
It was dark enough that only the higher-end cameras would be able to pick up enough details to identify Shiro, though, and Keith made a mental note to keep him away from the rich sectors.  "It's trash day in Gamma Sector," Keith announced, looking over his shoulder to make sure Shiro was following him.  He turned the corner into the alley alongside his shop where his hoverbike was parked; he swung a leg over it easily and patted the seat behind him.  "We're gonna see if we can find anything good."  
  
Shiro didn't climb onto the bike immediately, instead pausing to eye Keith.  "Do you have a helmet?"  
  
Keith's eyebrows shot up.  "A helmet—!  Shiro.  Get on the bike."  
  
Shiro frowned but climbed on behind Keith.  "But what if you crash?  It's not safe."  
  
Keith rolled his eyes and reached back to draw Shiro's hands to his waist.  "You sound like Slav.  It's fine.  Hang on or you'll fall off."  Keith could practically feel Shiro's disapproving frown behind him, which wouldn't have made sense to Keith a week ago, but now...now he knew better.  Now, Keith felt blood rush to his face when Shiro wrapped his arms around him, and tried (and failed) to pretend it was the exhilaration of the bike ride that caused it.  Keith was usually only half-aware of the city whipping by on either side of him, but with Shiro at his back, his attention was even more scattered.  It was fine, though, because he knew the route well enough to fly it blind.  
  
Gamma Sector was a step up from Delta, in altitude and in status, which made it better scavenging territory—though it was still only third-rate compared to the wealthy sectors.  Throwing out barely-used tech was the norm across all sectors, but he would need to ride out to an upper sector if he and Shiro couldn't find what they needed for Kolivan's commission.   Keith down-shifted once they crossed the boundary between the two sectors, slowing down to eye the piles of trash already lining the curbs.  He activated his oculars, and nudged Shiro.  
  
"You know what we need from that schematic.  Keep an eye out."  
  
"Keith, this is trash."  
  
"Maybe.  Maybe we'll find something useful.  Don't know until you look."  
  
"There are regulations—"  
  
Keith cut him off.  "Fuck regulations.  What are they gonna do with it all, let it rot in a landfill?  Why not find a use for it?"  Keith parked the bike and swung off, turning to Shiro.  "Remember, those same regulations said I couldn't repair you.  It doesn't mean it's right."  
  
Shiro stared at him.  Finally, he nodded.  "I will adjust protocols to reflect this."  He joined Keith on the pavement and looked at him expectantly.  
  
"Right.  Well, you don't have to announce it every time you adjust protocols, either, while you're at it.  If you want to pass, that is."  
  
Shiro's gaze sharpened.  "Pass...you mean as human."  
  
Keith shifted on his feet, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how human Shiro already was.  "Yeah."  
  
"I see."  
  
Keith eyed him.  "Yeah.  Right."  He spun on his heel and started walking.  "So, spare parts.  Scrap metal.  The kind of stuff I keep in the shop, a lot of it I got from out here.  Like you said, there are regulations, so I go out when it's dark.  It's quiet, too, not too many people around to bother you."  
  
"You don't like to be around people."  It was a statement, but Keith could practically hear Shiro processing the fact, and he glanced over his shoulder.  
  
"It's...complicated."  Keith scuffed his boot against the pavement, and didn't elaborate.  He didn't want to talk about it, plain and simple, and there was no need to.  He shifted the topic back to their current objective.  "We've got about an hour, an hour and a half tops before it starts getting light again.  We'll have to be back at the shop before then."  Keith paused at an intersection, glancing down the cross-street that was little more than an alley.  He caught Shiro's eye and tilted his head to the alley.  "You take that side, I'll take this."  He fished in his pocket and produced a square of fabric that he shook out into a bag and handed to Shiro.  "Gather up anything useful."  
  
It was a simple directive, but Keith couldn't help but check over his shoulder as he stepped into the narrow space between buildings.  He hadn't exactly tested Shiro's responsiveness outside of the shop, but this was as good a time as any, even if it wasn't the most controlled environment.  He could just see Shiro, the limits of his oculars reducing him to a bulky shape in wedged into the space opposite Keith, but it was reassurance enough.  
  
Keith kicked at a few promising piles without success.  A little deeper into the alley were bins that held some older-model bots—maintenance machines that had probably stopped functioning and would only take a little tinkering for Keith to fix, and he tucked those into his bag along with some other useful odds and ends.  If he could get the bots functioning he could pawn them off to Lance, or maybe someone wandering into his shop.  If not, he could scrap them—a good find, in either case, and he found himself smiling in satisfaction.  It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but he'd learned long ago to keep his eyes and mind open.  
  
He reached the next block, where the alley opened up to a row of neat houses that were the jewels of the sector, and the most likely to toss out their tech.  
  
He wasn't disappointed.  
  
Keith was folding the flap over his nearly-full bag when he heard the tell-tale rumbling of a collection truck, and he hissed out a curse.  He ducked back into the alley, towards his bike and Shiro.  
  
Shiro was no longer visible on his side of the alley, so Keith paused to stow his bag on the bike.  He'd lost track of time, but he was fairly certain it hadn't been long.  Long enough to walk the length of the alley and maybe a block or two around the corner, depending on how often he stopped to rummage through the bags and bins, but not so long that sunrise was a worry.  Not yet, anyway.  
  
Keith strained to listen for the sound of footfalls as he followed the path he'd set Shiro on.  
  
There was no sign of Shiro at the end of the first block, or the second, and Keith couldn't explain the panic that suddenly threatened to bubble up at the thought of Shiro going missing.  "He's just a fucking android, Keith."  The muttering did nothing to dispel the frantic energy that drove him deeper into Gamma Sector, careless of his surroundings.  
  
Shiro was tall.  Of course he would cover more distance than Keith in the time it had taken him to stash his bag and go after Shiro.  There was no reason to worry—except that Keith knew he wasn't the only scavenger, and he didn't know if someone else was looking for Shiro, or if Shiro would even follow his directive, and what made Keith think he could just set Shiro loose in the middle of the city, anyway?  Did Shiro even know how to navigate the city?  His database access was spotty, at best, and though Keith had made an effort to give Shiro access to his own network, it was quite possible he hadn't assimilated the city schematics.  
  
"Shit."  Keith chewed his lip and shoved his hands through his hair in frustration, and kept moving.  
  
Keith heard a sound as he rounded a corner, and he increased his pace to follow it, eyes darting to either side of the street, and then to the mouth of another alley that seemed to be the source.  He sprinted across the street, hyper-aware of the sky greying with pre-dawn light, and stumbled to a stop when he saw the familiar shape of broad shoulders and a shock of white.  He bent with his hands on his knees, practically gasping from the run, and maybe a little from relief.  "Shiro!  What the hell!"

"Keith!"  Shiro straightened from where he'd been kneeling, a wide smile on his face. Then he was darting forward, and Keith found himself enveloped in a tight hug.  He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, and he certainly didn't know where Shiro had even learned to hug...though it reminded him a bit of the way Shiro wrapped around him so that they could both fit in his bed.  Keith settled for awkwardly patting Shiro on the back, and then settling his arms around him.

Keith indulged in the contact, because if he was honest with himself, it felt _good_ , and in the end it was Shiro who pulled away, still smiling.  He lifted the strap of his bag triumphantly.  "I found these.  And some cats!"  He twisted to look over his shoulder, and Keith followed his gaze to find a handful of strays gazing back warily.  Shiro's smile faltered.  "They're not very healthy.  They should be taken to a vet."

Keith sighed and worried his lip with his teeth.  "They're strays, Shiro.  They're on their own."

Shiro's face scrunched up, and Keith had to steel himself against the inevitable question that followed:  "You could take care of them, right?"

Keith huffed.  "No.  I wish I could, but I can't just take in every cat I find in the streets."  He nodded to indicate the cats still eyeing them suspiciously.  "They're used to it.  They can take care of themselves.  Besides, Red would have a fit if I brought home another cat.  She only just started tolerating Black."

Shiro pursed his lips.  "Red likes Black."

Keith snorted.  "I guess, in her own way.  She's difficult, you know, even in her affection."  Keith jerked his head in the vague direction of his bike.  "Come on, we have to get going."

Shiro hesitated.  "Isn't there someone to take care of them?"

Keith stopped and turned.  "Sometimes there isn't."  He shrugged.  "Not everyone is that lucky, I guess."

"Oh."  Shiro glanced back with a frown.  "That's...sad."

"Yeah, it is," Keith murmured.  "That's just how the world works, though."  It was a hard lesson he'd learned at an early age, and a lesson that Shiro would have to learn, too.  But Shiro learned fast, like the way he'd already figured out what _like_ and _happy_ and _sad_ meant.

The walk back to the bike was quiet and weighted, because Keith couldn't shake Shiro's response to finding the stray cats.  It was...empathetic, and unexpected.  It wasn't the kind of thing that could be programmed, or learned, and while Shiro had arguably taken a shine to Red and Black, Keith had attributed his behavior with the cats to mimic Keith's own, paired with his insistence to be gentle with them.

Today had proven otherwise.

And not just the cats...and that had been enough to distract him, but now that Keith had time to roll his mind over their earlier excursion, he found himself glancing over at Shiro.  "So what was all that about, anyway?"  At Shiro's raised eyebrows, he elaborated, "Disappearing, and then the—you hugged me."

Shiro scrubbed a hand through his hair.  "I got lost?  I turned the corner and then I turned again and then I saw a cat and followed it and then nothing was familiar.  I was happy when you found me."  He ducked his head and shot a smile at Keith.  "You're my admin.  And, I like you."

Shiro said it so matter-of-fact, and yet Keith could feel heat rushing to his face until he had to turn and hide behind his hand—even if Shiro didn't mean it like that, it still affected Keith.  Maybe because it was something he didn't hear often, or maybe it was because Shiro looked like... _that_.

"Keith, are you okay?  Your heart rate suddenly elevated."

They had reached the bike, and Keith leaned against it gratefully; he avoided looking back at Shiro.  "I'm fine.  Just—just get on the bike.  I don't want to be seen; people get suspicious."  He'd almost told Shiro—what, exactly?  That he couldn't just say he liked people?  It wasn't such a strange thing to say, not really.  Keith was just overreacting and if Shiro liked him, there was no reason to complicate it.

(Never mind that Shiro's very existence seemed to complicate everything.)

Keith avoided major streets on the way back to the shop, navigating instead through tight alleys and tiny one-ways.  He kept half an eye on the lightening sky as it shifted from grey to pink and orange.  The few people that he did see on the streets seemed content to mind their own business, but it never hurt to be cautious.

They made it back unharassed.  Keith dumped his own bag on the floor, more interested in what Shiro had considered useful enough to collect.  He indicated a clear space on one of the work benches and eagerly lifted the flap of the bag once Shiro set it down.

Keith stared at the tiny, furry grey head that rose up, eyes wide and curious.

The kitten climbed out of the bag, graceless and uncoordinated, and Keith finally whipped around to face Shiro.  "Why is there a kitten in here, Shiro?"  He couldn't quite keep the hard edge of disbelief from his voice.  It...didn't make sense.  He hadn't seen Shiro pick the kitten up during or after their conversation, which meant he must've already had it in his bag before Keith got to him.  Which meant he had deviated from Keith's instructions.

It wasn't the first time, and it shouldn't have been so surprising, but...a kitten?

Shiro tilted his head.  "You said 'anything useful.'  Cats are useful.  You said so to Pidge."

Keith blinked and wracked his memory for the statement.  "When did I say that?"

Shiro's brow creased.  "During the first diagnostic."

"Right."  Keith didn't have a clear memory of it, but he shrugged it off to focus on more important things.  "Well.  What are we gonna do with this little guy?  Two cats is enough, if I took in every cat I saw this place would be overrun."

Shiro gathered up the kitten protectively, his expression falling.  "Keith—"

Keith crossed his arms.  "I'm not just gonna throw her back on the streets," he muttered.  "I'm not cruel."  He huffed a sigh and fished out his phone.  "Lance wanted a kitten, right?"  He tapped the screen until Lance's contact information came up, and dialed, ignoring the early hour.  Keith caught sight of Red in his peripheries, skulking under a nearby table.  He let out a bark of a laugh and called out, "Don't worry baby girl, I'm not keeping this one."

"What the fuck, Keith."  Lance's voice was slurred and disgruntled on the other end of the line.  "You got the wrong number."

Keith turned his attention back to his phone.  "I was talking to Red."

"Of course you were.  What the fuck time is it?"  There was a beat of silence, and then, "This better be important.  The sun isn't even up yet."

Keith rolled his eyes.  "I've got something you want."

"Keith, there's a lot of things I want, but I'm pretty sure they could've waited until a much more reasonable time of the day for you to tell me about them."  
  
"Maybe I just like to inconvenience you.  Call it payback, if you will."  Shiro raised an eyebrow at him and Keith huffed.  "You wanted a kitten, right?  For Allura?"  
  
"I thought you weren't giving up your precious Black."  
  
"I'm not.  I found another kitten who needs a home.  You know Red wouldn't forgive me if I kept another one.  Here, I'm sending you a picture."  Keith ignored whatever Lance was saying in favor of angling the camera on his phone at the kitten nestled in Shiro's arms.  
  
"She's a Russian Blue," Shiro piped up helpfully.  
  
"So we'll call her Blue," Keith muttered.  He sent the photo over to Lance and put the phone back up to his ear.  "See?  She's cute.  Very fuzzy."  
  
"Dude, what is it with you and naming cats after colors?  That's so lame.  What about something more fitting, like Mija?"  There was a pause, presumably for Lance to look at the photo Keith had sent.  "When can I come get her?"  
  
"Now, since you're up.  Before Red gets any more jealous than she already is."  
  
"Hey—!"  
  
"See you soon."  Keith hung up the call before Lance could give any more complaints and dropped his phone on the table.  It vibrated almost immediately, Lance's contact card lighting up its face, but Keith ignored it to stroke a finger over Blue's tiny head.  "Lance may be a pain in the ass, but he's not all bad.  He'll take care of her, even if he says he's doing it to get Allura's attention."  
  
"Who's Allura?"  
  
Keith glanced up at Shiro, and he was closer than Keith was expecting—but he didn't feel the need to put space between them.  "She owns Altea Enterprises, she's been trying to recruit a lot of us—ah, Hunk, Pidge, and Lance and I—to come work for her.  I'm sure you'll get to meet her."  Keith let his eyes drop back down, focusing on the little kitten and how gently Shiro held her.  His fingers brushed against Shiro's own, and he started back at the contact.  He turned to hide it.  "Let's see what else you got, then."  
  
.o.  
  
Keith was unsurprised by the ribbing Lance gave him when he came to pick up Blue.  The pointed looks toward Shiro were expected, too, and Keith just as pointedly ignored them.  
  
Between Keith and Shiro, they had managed to pick up enough scrap and spare parts for Kolivan's project, and Shiro dove into the work with him with a staggering eagerness and curiosity.  Keith did his best to answer, and directed him to the internet access on his tablet where his knowledge failed.  Even so, Keith's access was piggybacked off of a neighbor's and limited at the best of times.  
  
So it was only a matter of time before it wasn't enough for Shiro.  
  
"Hey, Keith."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Is there some other database I can use to build my knowledge?"  
  
Keith blinked at the question.  "Uh.  There's a library nearby.  It has unlimited internet access."  
  
Shiro's eyes brightened.  "Can we go?"  
  
Keith glanced over his work benches, cluttered with half-finished projects, and at least half of them with deadlines.  He pursed his lips.  "You can.  I have to make some progress on these.  Here."  Keith snagged his tablet and pushed the display to a holoscreen, until a map of Delta Sector floated in front of them.  "We're here," he dropped a virtual pin on the shop's location, and then another one a few blocks off.  "That's the library."  He glanced back at Shiro, giving him a once-over, and frowned.  He still stuck out more than Keith liked, but he'd gotten better at moving and reacting.  He could pass, maybe as someone a little too far down the line to becoming a cyborg, but Keith couldn't help the paranoia that someone might see Shiro as what he really was.  
  
He compromised by grabbing a baseball hat—dusty and emblazoned with a Galaxy Garrison logo—and plopped it firmly on Shiro's head.  "Wear this."  It obscured his face just enough to satisfy Keith, and he nodded to himself.  "Oh, and—" Keith fished out his spare library chip.  "You can use mine for now."   Keith chewed his lip, wondering if there was precedent for an android being given access to the library, and decided it was better not to ask.  
  
It became a regular occurrence.  Shiro was invaluable in the shop, but he was eager to learn, and came back from the library with lists of facts, or details of some piece of fiction he'd picked up.  Keith liked the sound of Shiro's voice when he talked, the cadence and inflection that made him so _real_ , and the company was welcome in a way that Keith wasn't used to.  
  
Keith developed a habit of packing away his growing attraction to Shiro.  It was the only way he could focus on his work when Shiro was hovering close enough to touch, and the only way he could drift off to sleep with Shiro curled against him.  It was pure grit and force of will, but Keith wasn't even sure—it was better to not even go there.  
  
But Keith still found himself reacting when their hands brushed, or if their eyes caught.  
  
It didn't mean anything.  
  
It didn't mean anything when Shiro made him coffee every morning, but Keith still found his eyes following Shiro, something like affection bubbling up in his chest and erupting in a blush when Shiro smiled and handed him his mug.  Keith pushed it down and sipped his coffee and got to work.  
  
It was a daily occurrence, but eventually Shiro lingered in Keith's space, too close for too long, until Keith was anxious to pull away and put distance between them.  
  
Shiro's voice stopped him, pinning him in place.  "Keith."  
  
Keith's fingers curled tightly around his mug.  "What?"  
  
"Do you want to kiss me?"  
  
Keith started, his hands spasming against the ceramic, his heart rate climbing.  "I'm sorry, what?"  It took a conscious effort not to retreat.  "Why would you say that?"  
  
Shiro's lips curled into a small smile.  "Dilated pupils, increased blood flow to your face, elevated pulse.  You do not seem to be ill, so they must be signs of attraction.  Am I wrong?"  
  
Keith's gaze flicked to Shiro's smile, licking his own lips involuntarily.  "You're—you're not wrong," he managed.  "But that doesn't mean I'm going to do it."  
  
Shiro raised his eyebrows, a small crinkle forming between them.  "Why not?"  
  
Keith finally did let himself step back, putting space between him and Shiro.  He didn't really have an answer to that question, so he only shrugged and hid behind his coffee.  Because...because Shiro was an android.  Sometimes Keith forgot that, but most of the time he didn't.  It wasn't a good idea to try anything with Shiro, who didn't have autonomous wants or desires; Keith knew that road only led to disappointment.  He had a hard rule against droids for a reason, and it didn't help that Shiro was his responsibility.  Keith couldn't stomach that kind of change in the carefully cultivated comfort he found in Shiro's presence.  
  
Shiro's eyes were still fixed on him, making Keith shift and clutch his coffee closer.  
  
"I want you to kiss me."  
  
Keith stared.  It wasn't the first time Shiro had said he _wanted_ something, and Keith couldn't forget Shiro's offhand declaration that he _liked_ him, but the words fell flat in his mind before he could even process them.  Keith huffed and dropped his gaze to his coffee.  "Shiro, don't say that.  You don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Keith shook his head before Shiro could say anything else and pushed past him, stalking through the shop until he could slip outside and gulp in lungfuls of fresh air.  Sure, Shiro could pass, and he was sophisticated enough to pursue things without a directive.  He showed empathy and he picked up on subtle body language even better than some people Keith knew—but maybe that was just from spending so much time around Keith.  It was easy enough for an AI to learn patterns and adjust to them, mimic them.  
  
Keith knew that Shiro was more than that, but...but the question of sentience was another thing entirely.  It was a question well above Keith's scope of understanding, better left for minds more inclined to studying humanities than machinery.

  
Keith tossed back the rest of his coffee and set the mug on the ground next to the shop door.  He didn’t want to go back in and face Shiro and the possibility that he might—he might—

 

Keith shook his head and turned down the corner to where his hoverbike sat.  It was easier to swing a leg over and fire it up, and ride until he wasn’t full of anxious energy anymore, until his mind wasn’t so mired in _mights_ and _maybes_. 

When Keith finally came back, he decided to pretend the conversation had never happened.  It was easier, that way, rather than trying to grapple with all the implications that came along with it.  Shiro was quiet, bent over one of the circuits that was a little beyond Keith, but he paused to look at Keith, brows drawn together with that little crease between them that Keith was so fond of.  Keith looked away and made a beeline to his most challenging project.  
  
Keith was still hyper-focused on repairing one of the salvaged maintenance machines when a familiar voice rang through the shop.  "Keith!  Hard at work as always, I see!"  
  
Keith shook himself out of it, and turned to find Coran behind him, stroking his signature mustache.  "Coran, hey.  What brings you here today?"  Keith absently reached for the coffee Shiro had set on his bench at some point.  It was a sore reminder of earlier, and Keith put it back down quickly.  
  
"Can't an old friend stop by to say hello?"  Coran grinned and winked; Keith wasn't fooled in the least bit.  
  
"Hello, Coran.  What does Allura want?"  Keith crossed his arms.  
  
"Well!  It's funny you should ask.  Recently Miss Allura came across some schematics that Alfor designed, from early in the Altea-Galra partnership, and she wanted to find a crew to bring her father's vision to life.  I've already spoken with Pidge and Hunk—they're on board, but it's more than a two-person job.  You're a talented young man, and you're familiar with Altea Enterprises.  So!  If you're interested, this could be quite a lucrative endeavor!  Not to mention, this project could be a blow to the Galran monopoly."  Coran winked.  
  
Keith raised an eyebrow.  "Okay.  Do I get to see what we'll be working on, or are we going in blind?"  
  
"Oh, of course, of course!"  Coran made a show of reaching into the pouch on his belt to retrieve a data chip.  He waved it in the air until Keith handed his tablet over so he could slot it in.  A few taps, and then Coran was pushing the schematics to Keith's holoscreen.  "There it is!  Voltron."  
  
Keith took his tablet back and scrolled through the notes that accompanied the design.  "This is pretty advanced, especially if it's from before Zarkon took control of Galra Industries."  He glanced back up at Coran.  "You think we could do this from scratch?  Even with all of us working together, we don't have the kind of resources Zarkon does."  
  
"You're right," Coran declared.  "You lot are much more resourceful than Zarkon!  You're able to put machines together with just your wits and determination!  Zarkon relies on an assembly line of perfectly-matched parts—Galra Industries would be like a quiznaking spark next to a barrel of Xanthorium if they had to improvise."  
  
Keith rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, sure."  He shrugged.  "Sure, I'm in.  I'm always happy to antagonize Galra Industries.  Sounds like a fun time to me."  
  
"Excellent!  Miss Allura will be glad to hear the news.  We can work out a schedule in the upcoming week, and figure out the logistics."  Coran tapped Keith's tablet, taking back the data chip.  "Gotta keep this safe, for now," he explained, voice conspiratorial.  "Don't want Galra Industries getting their hands on it!"  
  
Keith made a noncommittal noise.  
  
"Well!  I should get going and let you get back to work!  I still have to check in with Lance.  Did you know he has a kitten now?  Rides with him in the truck.  Cute little bugger, she is; Miss Allura is head-over-heels for her."  Coran twirled his mustache.  
  
Keith let out a bark of a laugh.  "Yeah, I'm the one that gave him Blue.  Shiro found her while we were out scavenging."  Keith jerked a thumb at Shiro, who looked up from soldering a circuit, a small smile on his face.  
  
Coran straightened, a wide smile spreading across his face.  "Oh, hello!  I hardly even noticed you over there!  I'm Coran."  
  
Shiro put the soldering iron in its stand and stood, crossing over to offer Coran his hand.  "Hello.  I'm Shiro."  
  
"What a pleasure to meet you!  I didn't think Keith would let anyone else work in his shop."  
  
Keith shrugged.  "Shiro's a special case."  
  
"Keith has helped me a lot," Shiro supplied.  
  
Coran accepted Shiro's hand, shaking it enthusiastically.  There was no missing the black and silver of Shiro's arm, but Coran was less than subtle as he eyed it.  "That's some high-end tech you have, there, Shiro."  Coran's gaze sharpened and he looked Shiro up and down.  His gaze shot to Keith, grin widening.  "Well, well, Keith.  Quite the acquisition you've made here."  Coran released Shiro's hand and leaned in to Keith's space, nudging him with an elbow.  He gave him an exaggerated wink.  "Didn't think you'd ever cave, but I suppose we all like to indulge every once in a while."  
  
Keith blinked.  "What."  
  
"Shiro.  He's a.  Well.  You know."  Coran waggled his eyebrows, and when he was met with Keith's blank stare, he elaborated.  "A sex bot."  Keith felt a surge of something hot in his chest, rising up to heat his face and neck.  Coran misunderstood, patting him on the shoulder and saying, "There's no need to be embarrassed about it.  There's nothing wrong with a healthy sexual appetite.  I, myself—"  
  
Keith cut him off.  "Coran, please stop."  He managed to keep his voice carefully level despite the anger threatening to boil his blood.  "Shiro helps me around the shop.  Whatever else he does or does not do for me is none of your business."  
  
"Oh."  Coran looked between Keith's crossed arms and Shiro's shuttered expression—it was strange, to see him without some indication of his reaction—and clapped his hands together.  "Right!  I do apologize, I got a little carried away there!  Well then.  I'll see you two later!"  He gave one of his patented smiles, half-hidden behind his mustache.  He paused along the way to the door to bend down and pet Red, and then Keith's shop was blessedly quiet again.  
  
Keith uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily.  "Well, that happened."  He still felt a little shaky with the implications of the conversation, and flexed his hands, trying to chase it away.  Shiro was still standing nearby, quiet, expression still neutral.  Waiting, Keith supposed, for some kind of direction, or explanation.  
  
It was too much to process in the span of one day.  
  
"We haven't tested your combat abilities yet," Keith murmured.  "How about we spar?  Hand-to-hand."  
  
Shiro nodded.  "Alright."  
  
The shop was too cluttered for the kind of movement required for sparring, so Keith led Shiro out to the alley instead.  It was still narrow, but they were less likely to accidentally knock over a fragile assembly, and there was room for them each to retreat more than a step or two.  Keith fell into a low stance easily, though it was tighter than he preferred, his temper winding him up.  But it was fine.  
  
Shiro's stance opposite him was textbook, mechanical in a way that Shiro rarely was these days.  His eyes were still unreadable, and that was enough to stoke the low fire of Keith's anger—he darted in with a quick jab.  Shiro evaded it easily, and then Keith began to fight him in earnest.  
  
Shiro was quick, despite his size, but it was obvious that he wasn't accustomed to fighting, his movements too precise and formal.  It made him easy to read, and Keith had no trouble dodging and blocking his first few attempts at attacking.  Shiro seemed to realize this and fell back into a defensive posture; they circled each other, watching and waiting.  Keith's patience ran out quickly, though, and he flew at Shiro with a series of kicks and punches, one after the other, throwing all of his frustration and more into the blows, because Shiro wasn't fragile and he could take it.  It felt good, to let it all go, especially when the blows landed—though only some of them did.  
  
And then fewer and fewer of his attacks landed, Shiro learning and adapting his defense.  
  
Then Shiro was on the offense, and he was as powerful as he was quick, his eyes sharp in assessing Keith's movement.  It became a dance of back-and-forth that had Keith panting with exertion, sweat beading at his temples.  He didn't mind the sharp pain that came with a landed kick or punch from Shiro, because it made it more rewarding when his own fist connected with Shiro's torso, slipping through a hole in his defense.  
  
Time moved differently during a fight, slower, so that seconds felt like minutes, and Keith's lungs burned from how fast he had to move to keep up with Shiro.  He knew, logically, that there was no way he could match Shiro in a long fight, because no matter how much stamina he had, he was still only human, while Shiro was—  
  
_Shiro was a machine_.  
  
But Keith knew how to fight dirty, and when he felt himself beginning to lag, he twisted and swept Shiro's feet from under him, dragging him to the ground with the momentum.  He scrambled to pin Shiro, but he was tiring and it made him slow—slow enough that Shiro was able to roll them and reverse their positions.  He was a solid weight above Keith, holding him firmly in place, and Keith realized belatedly how bad of an idea it had been to spar with Shiro.  
  
Shiro was close, breath coming almost as fast as Keith's, eyes sharp and dark, and Keith's mind was quick to imagine another scenario that involved Shiro on top of him like this.  It was a visceral thought, and Keith was glad he was pinned so he couldn't try to pursue it, though a part of him simply wanted.  If Shiro would only close the small distance between them, if he initiated it, then—  
  
Shiro was a _machine_.  
  
He wouldn't.  Not unless Keith instructed him to, and that was out of the question.  
  
"Get off of me," Keith spat, more venom in his words than he'd intended, but Shiro was on his feet in a moment and that was an improvement.  Keith scrambled to his feet and put more distance between them, feeling a little like a trapped animal, even though Shiro stood harmlessly across from him.  Keith dragged an arm across his forehead, wiping at the sweat there as he caught his breath, the space between him and Shiro more awkward than Keith was willing to admit.  
  
"Did I hurt you?"  
  
Shiro's question caught him off-guard, and Keith's breath left him all at once in a defeated sigh.  "No, Shiro."  
  
Shiro studied him with that same unreadable expression, and Keith wondered if it was just because he didn't know how to react to Keith's volatile mood, or if there was more to it than that.  But Keith was exhausted from all of it, and didn't have the energy to expend on thinking.  He closed his eyes against the sight of Shiro and considered taking the bike out again, but what he really wanted was to curl up in bed and hide from the world, and Shiro especially.  He heaved another sigh.  
  
"Are you sure?"  Keith's eyes fluttered open to see that Shiro had stepped closer, grey eyes softer than Keith thought possible, and he swayed forward a little, craving a contact that he couldn't have.  
  
Keith splayed his hand against Shiro's chest, a physical barrier to keep him from moving closer.  He stared at his hand, and it was only marginally easier than looking up into Shiro's face.  "I'm fine."  He pursed his lips.  "Can you—go?  To the library, or on a scavenging run, I don't care, I just.  Please go."

Shiro didn't reply at first, but he did step away, out of Keith's reach, and that was good.  Space was good.  "Alright.  Whatever you want, Keith."  
  
Keith didn't wait until Shiro left to turn on his heel and disappear back into the shop.   He made a beeline for his bed, tucking his knees to his chest and pulling the blanket around his shoulders.  He felt fragile in a way he hadn't for a long time—he'd built walls against this kind of thing, but Shiro had somehow gotten past them in the short time since Keith found him.  He was...he was more than an android, that much Keith was sure of—enough that Keith could fool himself.  
  
Until he couldn't.  
  
Keith was grateful when Red leapt onto the bed with him a few minutes later, rubbing against him before curling up next to him.  Black was quick to follow, tucking himself up against her side, and Keith ran his fingers idly through their fur, taking comfort in the low vibration of their purrs.  
  
He drifted off like that, two furry bodies next to him instead of Shiro, and it was fine.  It was what he needed.  Time to step back, away from Shiro's constant presence, even if Keith missed him already.


	3. Three

Keith startled awake to loud noises coming from out in the shop.  
  
He sat up and shook off his post-nap disorientation, jumping out of bed towards the door when the noises continued.  He reached for the knife he kept strapped to his belt out of instinct, slinking through darkness and weaving expertly through tables and machinery.  Keith blinked to activate his oculars, until the dark shapes around him sharpened and he could make out people scuffling just inside the shop entrance.  He recognized Shiro from the silver glint of his arm and the white shock of his hair, but not the others.  He followed their movement—three intruders, he counted—as they attacked Shiro.  
  
Two were sentinel bots, the third a slim figure clad head-to-toe in black, but none of them had noticed Keith yet.  Keith shifted his grip on the knife and lunged for one of the sentinels.  He knew exactly where its weak spot was, a removable panel meant for updating accesses, and he wedged the edge of the blade into the seam of it, prying it open with the flick of his wrist.  He twisted the knife into the wires, along the edge of a circuit, and it was enough to slow the bot down as it assessed the damage.  The second one had had enough time to react, and was turning its attention to Keith, only to hum and spark, crumpling from a hard blow delivered by Shiro.  
  
Keith grit his teeth, shifting to go after the person, but they twisted out of his reach, dodging Shiro—and then they were running out the door and down the deserted street.  
  
Keith caught Shiro by the wrist.  "Don't bother chasing them," he grunted.  "It's more trouble than it's worth."  The first sentinel was recovering from Keith's first attack, and Shiro turned to it, instead.  "No.  You don't need to damage it—just disable."  He pulled Shiro with him as he moved just out of the sentinel's range, reaching for his phone—except it was still next to his bed.  Keith frowned and glanced around the room until he caught sight of his tablet.  A few quick taps and he had what he wanted: an executable that Pidge had put together to incapacitate bots.  His eyes flicked to Shiro, and he bit his lip, hesitating—but it was reversible and wouldn't do any damage.  
  
The shop was quiet once the sentinel froze and settled into sleep mode.    
  
"They could have hurt you."  Shiro's voice had an edge that startled Keith.  He looked up, but couldn't quite make out Shiro's expression in the dark.  
  
Keith activated the shop's lights to assess the damage, starting with Shiro.  "I'm fine.  What happened?  Did you take any damage?"  
  
Shiro's mouth was set in a thin line.  "No, I am undamaged.  They were a threat to you.  I had to protect you."  
  
Keith snorted.  "I can take care of myself, Shiro."  
  
Shiro crossed his arms.  "I know."  It sounded petulant, and Keith felt a traitorous smile tug at his lips in response.  
  
"Right.  Well."  Keith stepped over to the sentinel sprawled on the ground, pushing at it with a bare foot.  "I'm gonna call Pidge."  Keith scanned the front of the shop, littered with fallen equipment and half-finished machine assemblies, casualties of the scuffle.  The door was still open, fried wires all that remained of the locking mechanism, and Keith cursed.  "What a fucking mess."  
  
Shiro stayed close to Keith as he retrieved his phone, following him into the apartment, and Keith couldn't decide if he wanted him to stay there or put distance between them again.  In the end, Shiro backed off to let him pace as he dialed Pidge.  
  
Pidge answered after only a couple rings—she kept even worse hours than Keith—and Keith launched right into telling her about the encounter.  "It could be nothing," he added, "just a random break-in, but people don't usually bring sentinels along to a break-in."  
  
"No, they don't.  Keith, does anyone know about Shiro?"  
  
"Not...exactly."  
  
"What do you mean, not exactly?  That's a yes or no question!  Have people seen him, or not?"  
  
"Pidge, he passes.  People don't even know what he is.  I can't just hide him in a closet every time I get a customer.  And I don't have unlimited accesses for him to learn from like you do—"  
  
"I told you I could give you full accesses if you stopped piggybacking off of that shit signal.  And what do you mean?  You're not exactly a paragon of people skills, Keith.  Are you sure he can pass?  No, don't answer that, more importantly, I thought we agreed to keep Shiro under wraps.  If he's a plant, they'll find him and track him back to you."  She paused to take a breath.  "Is that why you called me?  Do you think that's what happened?"  
  
Keith huffed defensively.  "I don't know!  Maybe?  Maybe you can find something out from the sentinels."  
  
"Maybe, but I don't think this is the kind of situation you'd want to program into a sentinel ahead of time.  Not if you were trying to hide what you were doing, and if that person ran off like you said, they're probably trying to hide.  They've probably deactivated the location services on the sentinels, too, but—okay.  I'll come over there and see if I can dig anything out of their memories."  
  
She hung up before Keith could say anything else, and he threw his hands up in exasperation.  He turned to Shiro.  "Pidge is on her way."  He strode back out into the shop to start picking up his scattered and ruined work, a kind of numbness settling into his bones.  
  
"Keith.  Are you okay?"  
  
Keith didn't bother turning to face Shiro.  "I said I'm fine."  He inspected an assembly that had gotten half-crushed in the earlier commotion, testing one of the wire connections.  He froze when Shiro rested a hand on his shoulder.  
  
" _Keith_."  
  
Keith turned and looked up to find Shiro's face full of concern, and that was—impossible.  Shiro tugged the assembly out of his hands gently, and then his hand was on Keith's cheek, a ghost of a touch to brush his hair back, and Keith's heart was pounding, in fear or anticipation, he wasn't sure, because this felt—it felt—  
  
Keith's breath caught as Shiro leaned forward, fists clenched at his sides and eyes fluttering shut, because this couldn't be real, it wasn't happening, Shiro was going to, but he _couldn't_ —  
  
The soft press of lips against his forehead was a shock, sending a shudder through him, because it was what he wanted and yet not, and it didn't make sense but Keith wasn't even sure he cared, especially not when Shiro was curling his arms around him, warm and welcoming.  Holding him like something _precious_.  Keith had no defense for this, and it was fucked up but he was gone on an android, and it was going to hurt, because Shiro didn't really know what he was doing.  
  
Keith felt cold when Shiro finally pulled away, and he crossed his arms over his chest to ward off the feeling.  
  
Shiro didn't try to catch his gaze as Keith pulled in fragile, shaky breaths.  "I don't want you to be unhappy or hurt.  I don't like it."  
  
Keith leaned against the nearest table.  "Shiro, stop saying that.  _Want_ , and _like_.  You don't know what those words mean."  
  
"Don't I?"  The hard edge in Shiro's voice made Keith look up sharply, and the expression on his face was a new one.  
  
Anger, maybe even a little hurt, his arms crossed across his chest in a mirror of Keith’s posture.

“Shiro—“

“Why—why am I even here, Keith?”  Shiro dropped his hands to his sides and curled them into fists.  “Am I a sex bot?  Because you don’t—“ He cut himself off, shaking his head.  “I don’t know why, you seem to want to.  Am I something else?”  Shiro jabbed a finger toward the quiet sentinel standing nearby.  “Am I like them?  I want to understand.  Am I just here to look after you?  Because if so, why won’t you _let me_?”

Each word was a lance through Keith’s chest, sharp and painful and devastating, and he could only gape once Shiro stopped.

“I don’t know.”  Keith’s voice sounded small in the aftermath of Shiro’s outburst. “You’re one-of-a-kind, as far as I know.  I don’t know what you were made to do.”

“Then why am I _here_?  With _you_?”  Shiro dragged in a breath. “Why does it _hurt_ when you push me away?”

Keith’s gaze snapped up, eyes narrowed.  “Because _I_ don’t want to get hurt!  You’re an android, you’re not supposed to—to hurt!  Or want, or like, or any of those things. You’re manufactured, and they can’t manufacture sentience.  So you can’t be!”  Keith dropped his hands to the edge of the table and clutched it in an attempt to anchor himself.  “I have to remember that, because if I forget, if I let myself believe you’re _a person_ , and I’m _wrong_ —“  If Keith was wrong, it would all be a lie, something else ripped away from him to leave a gaping hole in his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, though, because it was terrifying enough just thinking it.

“I _want_ to be a person.  I don’t want to be just...whatever I was made to be.  Keith, how would I even know?”

Keith let out a humorless laugh.  “That’s the question, isn’t it?  How do we know.  What makes us human?”  He shrugged.  “Autonomy?  Emotion?”

Shiro studied him, and Keith curled into himself, shoulders hunched forward in an attempt to hide.  “You’re afraid,” he murmured, disbelief coloring his voice.  “Keith, why are you afraid?  I won’t hurt you.”

Keith shrugged and threw Shiro's words back at him, "How do you know?"

"I don't.  But—I'm not afraid.  I know I can count on you and I want...I want to know what else there is, whatever it is you're so afraid of."  Shiro pursed his lips.  "Is it really not worth finding out?"

Keith was quiet, considering Shiro's words.  HIs tone, and his expressions—they were all _too real._ Keith was already convinced that Shiro was his own person, if he was honest with himself, but that crippling fear gripped at his chest whenever he thought about allowing himself something more.  But whether or not Keith believed it, if Shiro _was_ , if Shiro wanted what Keith wanted—wouldn't it be better to give it a shot?

It took deliberate effort for Keith to uncurl his hands from their death grip on the edge of the table, and even more effort to drag his eyes up to meet Shiro's gaze.  He was so earnest, the distance between them so careful, and Keith still felt the ghost of Shiro's lips against his forehead, and in the end, that was what made Keith topple over the edge.

Keith took a tentative step forward, steeling himself.  "I guess I'll leave the decision to you."

Shiro processed the words, his eyes widening, and he stepped into Keith's space—slowly, like he was approaching a frightened animal, and that wasn't too far off the mark—and curled one hand around Keith's arm.  And then he was leaning in and—

The brush of Shiro’s lips against Keith's was as gentle as it had been on his forehead, and Keith felt something in himself give.  His throat was tight, his eyes hot with a threat of tears, but he swallowed it all down so he could lean into Shiro and kiss him back.

It was chaste, to start, the slide of their mouths against each other soft and uncertain, and then Keith wound his arms around Shiro’s waist, wanting to be closer, wanting _more_ , his head tilting a bit to deepen it.  He’d been denying himself this, and now—now it was too late to go back, so Keith indulged, melting against Shiro and tracing the seam of his lips until Shiro’s mouth opened to him.  Keith wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but...Shiro didn’t _kiss_ like a machine.  His tongue was slick against Keith’s own, a little demanding, and then he was threading his fingers through Keith’s hair, urging him to angle his head more and so Keith did, and it made the kiss _better_ , deeper, until Keith was practically gasping into it.

Shiro made a noise, something low in his throat, and it sent heat coursing through Keith, overwhelming and making him clutch at Shiro’s shirt like a lifeline as he echoed the sound with his own helpless moan.  He and Shiro were pressed close enough that Keith felt Shiro shiver in response, and that was—it made Keith feel a little aggressive, a little desperate to chase those reactions because they were _real_ , they had to be.  He caught Shiro’s lip between his teeth, tugging lightly, and was rewarded with another low groan, and Keith wanted _more_ —

“ _Ahem_.”

Keith’s fingers tightened in the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, and he drew back only far enough to hide his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck, half-afraid that if he pulled away it would be to find that this had only been a dream.  Shiro seemed to be on the same wavelength, wrapping his arms more securely around Keith as he caught his breath.

It took Keith entirely too long to gather himself, and Pidge was already drawling, “You know the lock is fried, right?”

Keith grumbled inarticulately, and dragged himself out of Shiro’s embrace; Shiro gave him a light squeeze before letting him go.  “It’s not exactly a quick fix, Pidge.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes.  “That’s not what I meant.”

Keith crossed his arms, face hot with embarrassment. “I know.”

Pidge’s gaze flicked from Keith to Shiro, studying them both, her eyes widening after a moment.  “Shiro.  I almost didn’t recognize you.”  She turned her attention back to Keith.  “That’s quite some work you did there, Keith.”  She nodded meaningfully at the metallic shine of Shiro’s prosthetic.  “Looks good.”

Shiro flexed his replacement arm in front of him, smiling.  “I like it.”

“Interesting.”  Pidge stepped forward to take a closer look, adjusting her glasses; Keith wasn’t certain it was Shiro’s arm she was inspecting, especially when she glanced back up at Keith with a pointed look.  “Do you mind if I run some diagnostics?”

Keith pressed his mouth in a thin line, and he gestured at the two sentinels.  “Don’t you think we should worry about these guys, first? If you can dig anything up—“  
  
Pidge raise an eyebrow. “I _am_ capable of multitasking, you know.  I brought my whole kit and everything.”  She gestured at the canvas bag on the ground next to her.  
  
Shiro piped up, "I don't mind," and Keith scowled at the way one of Pidge's eyebrows crept up in response.  
  
"Fine.  Maybe you'll learn something I couldn't."  Keith shrugged; since Shiro was unbothered, it would be alright, and it wasn't like he didn't trust Pidge.  
  
Pidge nodded and knelt to rummage in her bag.  A moment later, she tossed a bundle of wires at Keith, who caught it reflexively.  "Here, hook these up to your boy.  I'll see what I can do with these sentinels—looks like you did a number on that one," she pointed to the crumpled bot that was Shiro's handiwork.  "It might be a bit of a challenge, so hopefully I can get something out of this one."  Keith heard the unspoken chastisement; it was always better to disable than to destroy, because disabled sentinels could be serviced and resold.  But given the circumstances, moderate damage was still better than destruction.  
  
Keith got to work connecting Pidge's wires to Shiro, sticking diodes to his skin.  It was a familiar process, by now, but this time it felt intimate, the space between them charged from their interrupted kiss.  Keith's fingers lingered against Shiro's skin, for once letting himself indulge and imagine running his hands over Shiro a little less clinically, until Shiro caught his hand with a smile and pressed a kiss to his palm.  It was dizzying, the thought that he'd crossed that line, and that it could be what he wanted, instead of what he expected.  He tried to swallow down the swell of hope that came with it, and was partly successful.  
  
"Hey, I'm still here," Pidge muttered, and Keith nearly jumped when he found her standing at his elbow.  She held out a hand for the cluster of wires, and stepped to Shiro's side, opposite Keith.  "By the way, good job, you just won me fifty credits.  Hunk didn't think you'd cave for at least another month."  
  
Keith bristled.  "It's not like that.  Why does everyone think I brought Shiro home for sex?"  
  
Pidge drew the ends of the wires to her handheld, connecting them absently.  "Because you're thirsty and he's a tall drink of water?"  She smirked.  "But hey, if you say it's not like that, I believe you.  Whatever, a win is a win."  She glanced up to meet Keith's eyes.  "You were right, though.  He passes, at least at a quick glance.  I'd have to watch him more to be sure."  
  
"Why did you bring me home?"  Shiro's voice was subdued, and Keith tried not to fidget under his gaze.  
  
"What do you think?  I was going to fix you up and sell you, it's what we do here.  You'd probably bring in a lot of money, too."  Keith bit his lip.  "But I decided I wanted to keep you for myself."  Pidge let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, but didn't comment; Keith shot her a glare.  "Now, things are different."  
  
"I'm glad."  Shiro's face was soft, his smile tender, and Keith had to look away to avoid being swept away with the feelings welling up in his chest.  
  
"I hate to be that guy that interrupts your little moment here, Keith, but uh.  Take a look at this."  She shifted and tilted her tablet until Keith could see it.  
  
The screen showed a datastream from Shiro's diagnostic, though Keith couldn't make sense of any of it.  Pidge's configurations were less user-friendly than the programs Keith used for diagnostics, and he could only stare.  "Uhm.  Not to sound like an idiot, but what am I looking at?"  
  
Pidge tapped the tablet, pulling up another datastream alongside Shiro's.  Perfectly-ordered lines of data sped down the screen, in contrast to Shiro's, which was decidedly less organized.  "This is a typical datastream, from some of your more advanced bots.  They're able to learn, and interact with the rest of the world, no problem, but they're still very much a product of their digital brains.  They wouldn't be able to pass simply because they're limited by digital constraints."  She pulled up another data stream, somewhere midway between Shiro's and the example stream.  "This is Shiro when I ran the first diagnostic, right before I tried to activate his QE core.  Still mostly digital, but I assumed the anomalies on it were corruptions, or maybe even something veering toward analog.  Not enough to hinder operation, mind you, but it's a significant difference from what we'd expect."  
  
Pidge paused and maximized the window with Shiro's current datastream.  "This...I don't know what this is.  I'd say analog, but I don't have anything to compare it to.  You said he's learning, and that's to be expected, but this isn't the kind of development we usually see from AI learning.  It's more adaptive, even a little sporadic."  She glanced between Keith and Shiro, gaze considering.  "I'd say, if you were trying to develop an AI that had the ability to adapt, pass, or—and this is a long shot because no one would touch a project like this—something that could hypothetically develop a consciousness, this might be what it would look like.”  Pidge’s expression hardened suddenly. “I overheard Dad and Matt having debates over the morality of something like that, before they disappeared.  I thought it was just a philosophical conversation.”

Keith glanced down at the datastream again.  “Do you think it could be related?”

“Keith, he’s _Galra tech_ , and quite possibly a prototype.  You know they wouldn’t let just anybody use their _proprietary information_ to build a fancy new machine.  Even if they weren’t directly involved, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad and Matt knew something—maybe something they weren’t supposed to, or maybe they said something they weren’t supposed to.  I don’t know!  Have you tried asking him?”  She jerked her head to indicate Shiro, mouth set in an angry line.

“Shiro says the memories he has from before are corrupted.”

Shiro’s gaze shifted between them, observing quietly, his brow furrowed.

Pidge let out a noise of frustration.  “So they _are_ there—Keith, why didn’t you tell me?  What if he saw something?  I can work with corrupted data, it doesn’t matter if he can access the memories himself or not, I can _make_ him access them!”

“Pidge, you can’t just _force_ him to access those memories. What if it causes damage?”  Keith had only just allowed himself to see Shiro as a person, but even before, the thought of forcing Shiro to access corrupted memory had made him uncomfortable.

Now it was unbearable.

“Besides, you yourself just said he could develop a consciousness—“

“There’s strict protocols to prevent that, Keith.”

“People break rules all the time!  Especially Galra Industries!”

“All the more reason to access those memories!”

“You can’t—“

“Keith, it’s okay.”  Shiro cut Keith off, making them both freeze.  “If it can help Pidge find her family, I want to do it.”

“I don’t like it.”  Keith crossed his arms, scowling.  “But if that’s what you want, it’s your decision.”  And Keith regretted it, a little, that he couldn’t just instruct Shiro to refuse—he could try, certainly—but it would undermine his own acceptance of Shiro’s humanity.

Pidge looked up at Shiro expectantly, and he nodded.  “Whatever you gotta do, Pidge.”

"Thank you, Shiro."  She studied him, glancing between Shiro and her tablet, worrying her lip between her teeth.  She glanced over at Keith.  "I won't discount that he could be sentient, you know.  It's highly unethical to purposefully design an AI with that potential, but...you're right, Galra Industries wouldn't care.  And he certainly seems human.  Making independent decisions outside of programmed responses is a huge breakthrough."  She sighed.  "I'll do my best not to disrupt any of Shiro's regular processes.  I don't want to cause damage any more than you do; it'd be counterproductive."  
  
"Thank you, Pidge."  Shiro gave her an encouraging smile.  
  
Keith nodded, posture relaxing a fraction.  "I still don't like it, but I trust you.  You're one of the smartest people I know.  If you say you'll do your best, I know you'll do it."  
  
Pidge tilted her head, eyeing Shiro.  "Don't thank me yet.  We might be here a while.  I've got a crack program running on the sentinel, it should extract any data inputs and reset them to factory automatically.  But this—this is going to take a much more active approach.  Especially given the nature of the datastream..."  Pidge drew herself up.  "We should probably get comfortable."  
  
They shuffled around, rearranging chairs until Pidge sat opposite Shiro and Keith.  Keith probably wouldn't be needed, but there was a nervous energy thrumming through him that spiked whenever he considered doing anything else.  His mind flashed back to installing Shiro's arm, and his sharp ' _No_ ' when Keith suggested he lay on the table.  He'd wondered then why, and now he worried that it had something to do with Shiro's corrupted memories.  That maybe a fragment of one of them had prompted Shiro's outburst.  
  
That maybe Shiro would remember what had happened to him to leave him half-broken in a trash heap.  
  
Keith was curious, but not enough to make Shiro recover what would likely be painful memories.  But it wasn't his decision.  
  
Pidge was quiet as she tapped at her tablet, brow furrowed in concentration.  She frowned and turned to rummage in her bag again, producing a keyboard.  "Time to get serious," she muttered.  Her fingers flew over the keys, the soft _click-clack_ of them the only sound in the room.  Keith watched her tablet screen, the rapid numbers scrolling across meaningless to him.  
  
Shiro shifted, leaning over enough to shoot Keith a smile, wires trailing from his temples, and it reminded Keith more of a hospital patient than a machine, his heart clenching in response.  "Stop thinking about it so much," Shiro murmured.  "I'm fine.  I want to help."  He reached up and smoothed away the crease on Keith's brow.  
  
Pidge shot Keith an unreadable look, and then shook her head.  "Stay still, Shiro.  Movement causes flares in the datastream that make my job here more difficult."  
  
Keith lost track of time, absently teasing Black when he came by to pounce at Keith's feet, focus sharpening every time Pidge muttered as she worked.  So he wasn't sure how long it was before Shiro's expression shuttered, fingers clenching into a fist where it rested on his thigh.  Keith straightened, glancing over at Pidge.  "What is it?"  
  
"I think I found what we're looking for."  Pidge's fingers slowed on the keyboard, each tap deliberate.  "There's a partitioned cluster of memory."  Her mouth tightened.  "With the way the rest of Shiro's datastream is structured, I can't just extract it.  I'll have to give him access to it so he can assimilate it before I can play with it and find out what's there."  
  
Keith looked back to Shiro's carefully neutral expression.  "Is that okay with you?"  
  
Shiro nodded.  "Do what you have to do."  
  
Keith still couldn't make sense of the text scrolling across Pidge's screen, but he could see the tension that spread through Shiro, the little shifts in his expression that hinted at whatever was happening in his mind.  It made Keith twitchy, made him want to tear the diodes off of Shiro's skin despite the knowledge that it would likely cause more harm than good.  He curled his hands into fists to prevent himself from pursuing that line of thought, nails digging into his palms.  
  
The next several minutes stretched out as Keith watched the play of expressions across Shiro's face—the dip of his brows, the tightening of his jaw that was accompanied by a twitch in his cheek.  Shiro sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth, unseeing, in an echo of human REM sleep, and Keith clenched his fists tighter.  
  
Shiro made a sound, suddenly, something guttural and pained, and Keith finally surged to his feet, staring Pidge down.  "Pidge, you have to stop."  
  
Pidge winced, apologetic.  "I can't.  If I stop the process now, he won't be able to control the corrupted memory.  It could result in a degradation of the undamaged processes.  We might even lose the partitioned memory completely."  
  
Keith ground his teeth and put a comforting hand on Shiro's shoulder.  "Just hang in there, Shiro."  He wasn't sure if Shiro heard him or not, the rapid movement of his eyes uninterrupted, so Keith began pacing, instead, trying to burn off his nervous energy.  He felt useless—he'd done so much to repair Shiro, fiddling with fios and skin grafts and a new, high-end arm, but this—he could do nothing to fix this.  It was Pidge's area of expertise.  Even reminding himself that she would do as little harm as possible wasn't enough to ease his anxiety, especially when Shiro made those little sounds of distress.

The sound turned into what could only be described as a whimper, and Shiro curled in on himself, bringing a hand up to his head.

“Keith, don’t let him disconnect,” Pidge warned, an edge in her voice.

“ _Pidge_!”  Keith practically growled her name, but the hand he placed over Shiro’s was gentle.  He tugged Shiro’s hand away, turning it to intertwine their fingers.  Shiro clutched Keith’s hand, grip almost unbearably strong for moment, and then he seemed to remember his own strength and loosened it.  Keith gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.  “Come on, Shiro.  I’ve got you.”  He shot Pidge a glare, hissing, “ _Hurry up!”_

“It’s almost done, I’m going as fast as I can!”  Her fingers were frantic on the keyboard, and she muttered, “Come on, come on— _there_!”  She hit one more key with finality, and then slouched back into her seat.  “That should do it.  He should have access to everything, now.”

Shiro was still slouched forward, fingers tangled with Keith’s and breath coming in short gasps, but he was no longer whimpering.  It was an improvement, Keith supposed, but only compared to the past couple minutes.  Keith could only imagine what it could do to Shiro—the onslaught of information, the memory of whatever had broken him, maybe even the echo of past damages, uncovered bit by bit as his programming repaired the corrupted memory.  Keith wondered if corrupted memory registered as damage, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Slowly, he knelt next to Shiro so he could look up into his face, being careful not to loosen his grip on Shiro’s hand.  “Hey, Shiro.  You with me?”

The glazed look in Shiro’s eyes cleared as he blinked and focused on Keith.  “Keith.”  He took a slow, deep breath before nodding and straightening.  “I’m—I’m okay.”  He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “It is a lot to process.  It may take some time to completely recover the data.”

Pidge stood, catching their attention. “That’s to be expected.”  She sighed, cracking her knuckles with a frown.  “I know you might not be able to remember right away, but can you see if you have any memory of my family?”  She produced a photo of her and the rest of her family, swiping it up to display on the holoscreen.  “Matt and Sam Holt.  They were working in Galra R&D before they went off the grid.  Maybe you’ve seen them or heard of them?”

“I’ve heard their names,” Shiro murmured, quickly adding, “since I came to the shop.” He offered her a weak smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Pidge nodded. “I...really appreciate that, Shiro.”  She glanced between Keith and Shiro.  “Right. I’m gonna go see if anything came up from the sentinel.  I wouldn’t suggest Shiro disconnecting just yet, just so we can monitor for any issues while he assimilates the the memory.”  Her gaze rested on Keith and Shiro’s joined hands, before she spun on her heel to attend to the sentinel.

It gave them at least the illusion of privacy, and Keith was glad for it as he soothed his thumb over Shiro’s knuckles.  Keith struggled for something to say, but he was still reeling from the sight of Shiro in apparent pain.  That, on top of the shift in their...relationship…dynamic?  Keith wasn’t sure what word to put to it, but things had invariably changed between him and Shiro.  Or rather, things hadn’t changed, exactly, so much as come to the surface, making everything that much more difficult to dismiss or push down.

“What if there’s a reason those memories were partitioned?  Corrupted?” Keith said, finally.

Shiro gave him a tight smile.  “Most likely there is. But I would like to know what happened and why.  There has to be an explanation.  And I want to help Pidge and the Holts, if I can.”

Keith’s brow creased.  “Yeah,but...”  He released Shiro’s hand and traced a path up to the join that connected Shiro’s replacement arm, fingers light against the shiny skin grafts there.  “Is it worth it?”

Shiro’s gaze softened, a familiar, fond expression, and Keith didn’t know how he’d fooled himself into thinking Shiro wasn’t a _person_ for so long. “Whatever happened, I’m here now.”  He didn’t elaborate, as if that explained everything, and Keith supposed it did.

Shiro’s eyes widened suddenly, and then closed, his jaw tight.  It was an echo of minutes ago while Pidge worked to free up his memory, albeit quieter, shorter, and when Shiro’s eyes reopened they were haunted.

“Keith, can we go outside?”

Keith nodded, standing.  He didn’t like the choked sound of Shiro’s voice, but neither of them said anything to acknowledge it.  Instead, Keith caught Shiro’s hand again, and they made their way out, taking Pidge’s tablet with them.  Keith spared a withering glance for the lock mechanism, making a mental note to fix it before getting to work on anything else, but...that was for a little later.  They passed Pidge, but she only glanced up before turning her focus back on the tablet in her hands.

The sky was a haze of early dawn light, the air cool but sticky against their skin, and Shiro let out a long sigh, tilting his head to look up at the sky.  Keith watched him, frowning in concern.  He opened his mouth, then closed it, pressing his lips tight as he gathered his resolve. “Tell me—tell me what’s going on in there.”

Shiro cocked his head towards Keith, eyes still fixed above him.  “I...don’t know how it would compare to how you process information.  Maybe...like a lo-res video at first, only a blurry impression that becomes clearer as more information loads.  Yeah, I think it is like that.”  He finally dropped his gaze to look at Keith, and Keith couldn’t read the expression there.  “There is a lot of confusion, and fear.  Some things...some things are more clear.  I was kept in a lab of some kind, alone when they weren’t—I don’t know what they did.  Maybe testing me somehow?”

“Who’s ‘they?’”

Pidge’s voice startled Keith, and he felt a flicker of anger that she’s interrupted them, but Shiro’s thumb across his knuckles soothed some of it away.  Keith realized that Shiro had learned the gesture from him only a little bit ago, and it made the warmth in him diffuse into something more gentle.

“I don’t know.  I am still parsing the memories. I'm not sure how long it will take to go through them, but I will keep you informed."  
  
Pidge nodded.  "I was able to get some data off of the sentinels.  Not much, but there's a few locations.  I'm going to check them out, maybe I can still find some clues to track down whoever did this," she waved at the busted lock.  "I'd like to know if Galra is behind this, although I can't think of who else it could be.  Maybe some local low-lifes, but people respect you around here."  
  
Keith shrugged.  "Maybe.  You should forward the locations to Kolivan before you go, he might have some intel.  Did you send them to my inbox?"  
  
"Yeah, already in there."  
  
"Don't go unprepared, Pidge."  
  
Pidge scowled.  "I can take care of myself."  
  
"I don't doubt it.  Just don't go in blind."  
  
"I won't."  Her gaze flicked to Shiro.  "It's probably safe to disconnect now, but you should keep monitoring Shiro closely.  There's no telling how he might react when all of the memories have been recovered."  She shifted on her feet, frowning.  "We can't discount the possibility of triggering some core functions that were lost when they were partitioned."  
  
Keith glanced at Shiro.  "I will.  But...Shiro has his own autonomy, now.  Don't you think he'd be able to choose whether or not to follow any programming?"  
  
"I'm not sure.  There's no precedent for this.  I'd like to think so, but...I'm also not entirely convinced that Shiro is what you're implying he is.  Sorry, Keith, Shiro, I'm just.  I would have to observe him for an extended period to be certain.  As far as passing, I can see it.  But that doesn't mean he can override default programming."  She tapped at the tablet connected to Shiro, and then made quick work of unpeeling the diodes, talking as she did so.  "Either way, after today, I think it's even more important to keep a low profile.  At least until Shiro recovers his memories and we know more."  
  
Keith made a noncommittal noise, and Pidge rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Keith would ignore her advice if he could.  "What?  We're not going to storm Galra HQ or anything.  I've got contracts to fulfill, and I have to get materials somehow."  
  
"Whatever.  Fix your lock, Keith."  
  
Keith released Shiro's hands so he could cross his arms, one eyebrow raised skeptically.  "Bye, Pidge."  
  
Shiro gave him an amused look and added, "Good luck, Pidge."  
  
They watched Pidge disappear around the corner, canvas bag too big where it was slung across her back.  The sky lightened gradually, a handful of people emerging out onto the street, the sounds of the city growing into a steady backdrop of noise.  Shiro seemed content to stand there quietly, processing whatever memories Pidge had unlocked for him, and Keith stood by his side, enjoying the rare peace of it.  He offered Shiro a comforting touch every now and then, when his expression tightened.  
  
Shiro broke the silence after a while, a small whimper that made Keith turn to him sharply.  "The—when Pidge—I didn't really notice it, before, but.  There's some damage."  
  
Keith grabbed Shiro's arm and dragged him back into the shop, hissing, "How didn't you notice?  Where?"  He kicked the door closed behind him, pushing Shiro back into one of the chairs.  
  
"I was distracted."  Shiro gave a tight smile and tugged his shirt up, revealing a small gash with charred edges on his flank, and Keith wondered how he'd missed it, with his hands on Shiro earlier.  To be fair, he'd had other things on his mind at the time, but still.  Keith traced the edges of it with a finger.  "I was worried about you, and then—" Shiro raised a hand to thumb Keith's lip, and Keith kissed it reflexively.  "There was a lot to process.  To still process."  
  
Keith had to make an effort to not get distracted, a harder task now that Shiro was...well.  Now that they'd kissed and Keith wanted to run his hands over his skin, and he'd _seen_ Shiro before, but he hadn't allowed himself to _look_.  But the gash was ugly enough to keep his attention.  It was small but deep, cutting into the fibers that acted as muscle for Shiro—not too unlike some of the ones Shiro had sported when Keith had first found him, and it made Keith lean in to study it a bit closer.  
  
"This isn't the first time you've been damaged by a sentinel," Keith muttered.  He stood up to find the supplies he would need for the repair.  "You can turn down the damage input, right?"  And then as an afterthought, "Do you remember it happening before?"  
  
"Mm, I recovered a fragment of a memory of something similar, and it brought my attention back to this."  Shiro gave a half-shrug.  "The—I'm too overwhelmed to access input settings."  
  
Keith shot him a concerned look from across the room.  "Shouldn’t Pidge have picked up something like that while she was monitoring you?”

“Not necessarily.”  Keith frowned. “It isn’t something that would show up on the datastream without admin access. That’s you.”

Keith returned to Shiro’s side, hands full of materials. The word _admin_ stung as much as _android_ did, because Shiro was...something else, someone with autonomy.  “Shiro, I—I don’t want to be your admin.”  His brow creased as his frown deepened.  “You’re making decisions on your own. Wouldn’t that effectively make you your own admin?”   _What if…?_

Shiro tilted his head.  “I am,” he said slowly.  He blinked and then bowed his head, looking at Keith through his eyelashes with an expression that Keith could only interpret as embarrassment.  “Ah. You told me not to announce when I adjusted protocols and settings, so I didn’t say anything.  But I did adjust them to give myself admin rights.”

Keith’s expression relaxed and he hummed in acknowledgment.  He knelt and it put the gash on Shiro’s side at eye level; Keith focused on connecting what he could, glancing up at Shiro to ask, “When?”

Shiro drew his lip between his teeth, glancing to the side.  “When you—you told me you’d leave the decision to me.”  He drew in a breath and met Keith’s eyes.  “Maybe that’s not what you meant, but.  I think that’s what you wanted.  It’s what I wanted, too.”

Keith looked away, his face suddenly hot, and he fumbled the fios he was attempting to integrate with Shiro’s damaged circuitry.  “Oh.”  Shiro wasn’t wrong, far from it, because it was _exactly_ what Keith had wanted.

He wondered if that threw Shiro’s recent decisions into question, if he was doing what he thought Keith wanted, but he supposed it didn’t matter, in the end.  It was done now, and Shiro was in charge of making his own decisions.  
  
They fell into silence as Keith worked, not quite as comfortable as they'd grown accustomed to.  Then again, if Keith was honest with himself, things had always been just a smidge awkward with Shiro, if only because Keith had been stubbornly ignoring Shiro's growing humanity.  Now, it was right there in front of him, and Shiro wanted...well, he at least wanted to kiss.  Keith would be lying if he hadn't wondered if Shiro was capable; he certainly knew Shiro had the anatomy for it, and it wouldn't be a stretch if whoever had made him had also built him to—  
  
Keith cut the thought off, because he was too close to said anatomy, the expanse of skin under his fingers too tempting despite the damage he was repairing.  He didn't want to take any liberties, but he still couldn't resist the urge to press a kiss just above Shiro's newly-mended skin.  He kept it chaste, more to soothe than anything, but his mind buzzed with other things he could do with his mouth there--and Shiro sucked in a sharp breath from just the light brush of lips.  It was enough to drive Keith to his feet, dizzy with how fast he stood, and he wobbled, his vision flickering.  
  
Shiro caught him by the arm, gentle.  "Hey."  It was a steady, grounding touch, and Keith found himself drowning in Shiro's eyes when he looked up.  "Keith.  Thank you."  
  
Keith's lips twitched.  He was still teetering dangerously in his own mind, trying to get a handle on everything that had happened, and if not for Shiro's hand around his arm, he might've bolted, again.  He wanted to, and he wanted to kiss Shiro again, but, but—  
  
Keith tore his gaze away and shrugged Shiro off.  "Yeah.  It's no problem."  He glanced over at the inert sentinels.  Work was easier to focus on.  "We should clean up.  Pidge sent a message—we can work on the sentinels.  It won't take much to set them to default, repair the damage.  They're pretty new models, so at least we'll get something out of this whole mess."  Shiro was still looking at him with a warmth that Keith could feel trying to worm under his skin, and Keith didn't know what to do with that.  Or rather, he did, but.  
  
But, there were other things to worry about at the moment.  Keith could deal with this...later.  
  
"I'll get to work on the lock," Keith mumbled, already wading through the shop.  "Can you move the sentinels against the wall, maybe get an inventory of what we'll need for repairs?"  
  
"I can."  Keith felt Shiro's eyes on him as he traded the materials from Shiro's repairs for a kit to repair the lock.  He tried not to think about how similar the materials were.  Shiro interrupted his train of thought.  "Keith.  Don't you need to sleep?"  
  
The answer was definitely yes, despite Keith's nap.  It had been enough to recharge him for a little while, but so much had happened in that short time.  Once Shiro reminded him of sleep, Keith could feel the fatigue dragging at him, making his mind move slowly.  "I have to fix the lock."  He rubbed his eyes.  "I can't go back to sleep until it's done."  
  
Shiro made a sound, something like exasperation.  "I can fix the lock.  You look exhausted.  Go to bed."  
  
Keith blinked, unaccustomed to the tone of command in Shiro's voice, and wondered if that was something Shiro had been holding back until now, some remnant of his programming before he overcame it.  "I—"  It wasn't a bad idea, at all; if anything, it was better if Keith went to bed without Shiro trailing behind him, distracting him with all of that pressed against him when Keith was still debating if he wanted to do more with Shiro.  It would be too tempting, and there was no doubt that Shiro could fix the lock—maybe even faster than Keith would be able to.  
  
"Alright," Keith sighed finally, setting the repair kit on one of the work benches.  "Yeah.  I'll—I'll do that."  He turned and made his way to the apartment at the back of the shop, pausing long enough to scratch Red behind her ears when she wound between his legs with a purr.  She followed him through the door and jumped onto bed after Keith collapsed into the nest of blankets.  He curled up, tugging one of them around himself, and he only felt marginally better than when he'd done the same thing a few hours ago.  He huffed out a sigh and let himself drift, doing his best to push all of the thoughts from his mind, until he was slipping back into a doze.  
  
He heard Shiro come in, some time later, head fuzzy with sleep and eyes too heavy to drag open.  There was a soft brush of fingers against his hair, brushing it back, and Keith was too out of it to do more than shift a little, fingers twitching against the sheets—a useless attempt at getting more out of the contact.  He needn't have bothered, though, because Shiro was climbing in with him, shushing him softly when Keith made a small noise.  
  
"Sleep, Keith," Shiro murmured, settling against him, and Keith was too tired to protest.  And anyway, it was familiar and comforting to have Shiro against him.  Keith had missed it, even though they had been curled together only the night before.   But...things had changed, since then, and it felt like it had been longer.  
  
When Keith woke again, Shiro was still close, a solid warmth at his back, breath coming in steady gusts against his neck.  The previous day's events crowded up in his mind, and at the forefront of that was the memory of Shiro's lips against his, the hot brush of his tongue—enough to make Keith's morning arousal impossible to ignore, and he shifted subtly, already thinking of going to the bathroom to take care of it.  Shiro's arm was draped around him, though, making it difficult to extract himself from bed.  Which only made matters worse, and Keith had to bite his lip against the soft noise he made.  He closed his hand around Shiro's wrist, to give himself space to squirm out, but Shiro's arm tightened around him.  
  
"Shiro, I gotta get up."  Keith's voice was still hoarse with sleep, and a little thick with desire, and there was no hiding the reason he had to get up, with his skin flushing all over and his pulse speeding up.  
  
Shiro nudged his face into the crook of Keith's neck, pressing a kiss there that sent a shiver down Keith's spine.  "You don't have to."  His hand drifted down Keith's stomach--Keith's fingers still closed around his wrist—suggestive but stopping a breath from the waistband of Keith's boxers.  "I could—"  He didn't have to say more for Keith to know what he was offering, and they were pressed close enough that it was suddenly very clear that Shiro was definitely capable.  "If you want."  
  
Keith's breath hissed out in a curse, and he was caught between pressing back against Shiro's length and forward to encourage his hand, because it was already too late to pull away.  He did want, and there was no denying it now (he didn't want to, anymore, anyway), and Shiro had offered, after all.  Keith's eyes fluttered shut, and he urged Shiro's hand lower, nodding.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  Shiro, please—"  
  
Shiro kissed along Keith's neck, nosing past his hair, and let his fingers drag down, teasing.  "You're so beautiful," he murmured, easing fingertips under fabric, and Keith squirmed, hips already jumping in anticipation of just being touched, breath hitching.  "I wanted to," Shiro breathed, and Keith could barely concentrate on his words with Shiro's hand closing over him, grinding his own hardness against Keith from behind.  "Wanted you to ask me to do this for you, but you didn't."  His voice was muffled against Keith's skin, and Keith twisted to capture his mouth in a kiss, the words too much when he'd been wanting so bad for so long, too.  
  
Keith was distantly aware of the groans sounding from his own throat, though he was more focused on Shiro's voice—and he didn't sound like an android, the helpless sounds against Keith's mouth genuine, as genuine as he'd ever been, like he was as human as Keith.  
  
Keith felt the heat building low in his belly embarrassingly fast, and he tore his mouth away when he felt release crashing over him, a strangled noise tearing itself out of his throat, his hands tightening around Shiro's wrist and forearm where he was clutching him.  He was gulping for breath, temple pressed against Shiro, and he was going to ask—because he didn't know—and then Shiro was chanting his name, hips stuttering against Keith.  Shiro's own release was accompanied by a small grunt, and then they were slumped against each other, panting.  
  
They were quiet for a long while, long after Keith had caught his breath and could feel the mess in his boxers drying into something sticky and uncomfortable.  Shiro was still pressing kisses against his neck and down to his shoulder, soft affectionate touches as he curled around Keith, so that Keith was reluctant to get up and leave their bubble of warm afterglow.  But Keith was awake and restless and he needed to clean up, so he extracted himself from Shiro, a little reluctantly.  Shiro sat up, and Keith half-expected him to follow him into the bathroom, but he only watched Keith disappear behind the door.  
  
Keith rested against the door once it was closed, sucking in deep breaths because—he was terrified, really.  This was really happening, he'd really just done that with Shiro.  He was glad to have space, feeling a bit shocky as he shucked his clothes and climbed into the shower to wash off.  The spray of warm water was soothing, and Keith leaned against the cold tile, enjoying the contrast in temperature.  He didn't regret it, it was just.  Kind of hard to believe it was real.  
  
But Shiro was still there when Keith emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips.  He could smell fresh coffee in the air even before Shiro pressed a steaming mug into his hands, and it made his chest warm with affection.  Shiro was studying him as Keith took a cautious sip, and then his hand was on Keith's cheek, stroking his thumb over it.  "Was that—is this—okay?"  He dropped his hand at the same time as his gaze, uncertainty written across his expression.  
  
Keith wasn't sure there were words to express everything clamoring for attention in his mind, but more than anything, he wanted to kiss Shiro, to shower him with even a fraction of the affection Shiro had given him, so he caught Shiro's hand and pressed it against his cheek again.  "Yeah," Keith croaked, and then leaned up to kiss Shiro.  It didn't feel easy, yet, but Keith had a feeling it wouldn't be long before it did, before the soft brush of lips was barely a thought for him.  He let a breath out through his nose and pulled back, clearing his throat.  "Thank you."  He didn't specify what he was thanking Shiro for.  The coffee or the concern or the handjob.  Maybe even the lock on the shop door—Shiro didn't ask him to clarify.  
  
They lingered in each other's space a bit longer, before Keith gave Shiro another soft kiss (and now that he'd done it once, twice, even if it wasn't easy, he didn't want to stop) and turned to get dressed for the day.  There was work to do with the sentinels, and hopefully Pidge had come up with something useful from the locations she'd gotten off of them.  Maybe answers, or a clue to point them in the right direction.  Keith checked his phone, but there weren't any updates, aside from a message from Kolivan.  He glanced at it, but it was only a curt response to something Keith had sent the day before.  
  
They fell into a familiar rhythm as they moved around each other in the shop, working on the sentinels and other commissions, and it was almost like nothing had changed, except everything had changed.  Keith caught Shiro looking up from his work to smile at him, his own lips tugging up to return it.  And Shiro had been tactile before, but now he didn't hesitate to brush his hand against Keith's when they passed each other, or to settle a hand on Keith's shoulder when the work they were doing required a joint effort.  
  
Keith was still tempted to kiss Shiro at every opportunity, but it was a different kind of want, something tempered by the fact that he could, now, made it less...urgent.  They could take their time and savor it, later, but he still let Shiro lean in to pepper him with kisses when he wanted to, because Keith liked it, too.  
  
Shiro also paused, every now and then, face turning thoughtful and sometimes pained, and Keith expected it had to do with the memories Pidge had freed up.  Shiro confirmed it with a tight nod when he asked, but he didn't say anything more until well after they'd—Keith—had taken a lunch break.  
  
"Ulaz," Shiro said, out of nowhere, and Keith jerked his head up to look at him.  Shiro's expression was tight once more.  "I thought the name was familiar when Kolivan said it, but I didn't know why."  His shoulders slumped and he let out a weary sigh.  "I think...I think I might be the reason he's dead."  
  
Keith fought to keep his voice neutral, because he knew whatever had happened couldn't have been Shiro's fault.  "What do you mean?"  
  
Shiro shook his head.  "It's still jumbled.  But—he was the last thing I remember seeing before.  Before I was aware again, before I came here.  I think he got me out of...wherever I was.  He was...a scientist?  A guard?  I'm not sure, I just remember hearing his name.  He was there when they—"  Shiro stopped, glancing down to the join of his prosthetic.  He frowned.  "I think I used to have access to Galra Industries' network.  I think that's why they—it _hurt_ , Keith," Shiro said, turning his gaze back to Keith, and Keith felt himself go cold all over, fury curling in his gut.

Keith stepped close to Shiro, soothing his hands over Shiro's arm.  "What they did was wrong," Keith grit out.  "But you're here now.  You're safe here."

Shiro gave him a weak smile.  "I know."  His smile slipped away almost immediately.  "Ulaz died, though.  He helped me like he knew."  Shiro's gaze was intense, his eyebrows furrowed.  "He shoved me into the back of a truck and told me to get away.  And he died right after that, didn't he?  Right after you found me."  
  
Keith stared at Shiro, mind quickly tracking back over the timeline, and yeah, Shiro was right.  He hadn't made the connection before, when Kolivan had broken the news to him, but Ulaz's death coincided with Shiro's appearance.  Shiro looked so lost and dejected at the thought, and Keith said fiercely, "It's not your fault, Shiro.  That's not possible, I know you.  There's no way it's your fault.  Whoever did this to you," he tightened his grip on Shiro's prosthetic, "they are at fault.  And we'll find a way to make them pay."  Keith wasn't sure how, yet, but he fully intended to follow through on that.  He sucked in a breath, trying to calm the cold fire roaring inside him.  "Is there anything else you remember?"  
  
Shiro shrugged one shoulder, still looking subdued.  "Bits and pieces.  They made me fight sentinels, and other things.  To test what I could do."  His gaze went unfocused and dark, and he went silent.  When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.  "They left me alone at night.  In a lab.  I didn't understand anything of what they were doing.  I didn't understand what I felt—the damage inputs, but other things, too."  
  
Keith kept up the soothing touch on Shiro's arm, letting his hands wander to his shoulders, too, his other hand catching Shiro's and tangling their fingers together.  "Hey, it's okay.  You're safe here."  
  
Shiro squeezed Keith's hand.  "I understood the stars," he said abruptly.  "I could see them through the windows at night, when I was alone.  I think I always liked them."  And Keith could see that, but the admission still tugged at his heart, and suddenly so much made sense.  Why Shiro refused to enter his sleep cycle alone in the shop, and why he dragged Keith out in the middle of the night to look up at the sky.  Shiro dragged in a shaky breath.  "I should tell Kolivan.  And Pidge."  
  
Keith shook his head minutely.  "It won't make a difference unless we know more."  Keith bit his lip.  "Hey, why don't we take a break?  Let's go for a ride."  
  
Shiro tilted his head.  "It's trash day in Tau Sector—"  
  
Keith cut him off with a more forceful shake of his head.  "No, not for scavenging.  Just a ride.  It's what I do when I have to clear my head."  
  
"Oh."  Shiro pursed his lips.  "I still think you're going to break your head if you don't wear a helmet."  
  
Keith scowled, but his mouth was twitching with a suppressed smile as he gave Shiro a playful shove.  "Whatever.  Helmets are annoying."  He tugged Shiro's arm, urging him to the door and snagging Shiro's hat on the way out.  Shiro followed without resistance, but Keith didn't let his hand go until they'd reached his hoverbike around the corner.  Shiro looked painfully normal, with the ball cap over his hair, and Keith didn't bother fighting the urge to kiss him, the top of his head bumping against the brim of the hat and setting it askew.  
  
Shiro huffed once they parted.  "A hat isn't a substitute for a helmet."  
  
Keith rolled his eyes.  "It's a disguise."  
  
Shiro lifted the hat off and turned it backwards, tightening it in anticipation of the wind on the bike.  "If you say so."  
  
And Keith didn't mind that the hat was a poor excuse of a disguise, because Shiro was smiling again, small and tentative, but it was something.  Enough to settle the tight vice that had been squeezing Keith's chest.  He swung a leg over the bike and Shiro settled behind him, wrapping his arms around Keith easily.  
  
Keith turned the engine over and gunned it, taking the turn out of the alley with more aggression than he usually did, swerving effortlessly around the other vehicles in the main roads.  Probably he should be taking pains to not draw attention to them, but Delta Sector was full of people who preferred to mind their own business.  It was why Keith had chosen to set his shop up there.  There was a short stretch that took them through a neighboring sector, and then they were passing the city limits, the buildings falling away to open land on either side.  Keith leaned into the wind and felt Shiro tucked tight against his back, leaning forward with him.  
  
It was good—not quite the freedom of the desert, but it was still a refreshing change from the city, and as much as Keith liked his shop, he couldn't deny that he preferred to hurtle through the wide-open spaces outside of it, pushing his bike to the limits until it was just him and the rush of wind.  
  
And Shiro, now.  Keith had never pictured himself sharing these rides, but it felt natural, with Shiro.  
  
Keith slowed once the city was just a cluttered skyline on the horizon, picking his way more carefully before pulling off onto a narrow highway that wound through trees.  He tilted his head without quite turning around, speaking loud enough for Shiro to hear.  "You wanna have a little fun?"  He felt his own mouth curling into a grin when Shiro spoke an affirmative against his ear.  
  
Keith navigated the winding highway confidently, and when he saw the landmark he'd been watching for, he opened the throttle, teeth clenched tight in a wild, determined grin.  
  
He could tell when Shiro realized what Keith was about to do, his arms arms tightening around Keith's waist and yelling a protest in his ear, but Keith just shifted his grip and braced himself—  
  
They were flying.  The hover bike wasn't meant to be more than a foot or two off of the ground, but Keith knew what he had to do to make it work, the bike shooting off the cliff and hanging in the air for a moment before it inevitably tipped forward.  Keith manipulated the thrusters expertly, drawing back on the handles as they plummeted down, down, a freefall that was definitely crazy and terrifying and perfect.  His stomach shot up into his throat, and then slammed down when the thrusters caught and slowed their descent, the engine thundering threateningly underneath them.  
  
They didn't crash into the ground, but it was a near thing.  Keith leaned back and let out a whoop of pure exhilaration, joy bubbling up as Shiro laughed in his ear.  "You're going to kill yourself!" Shiro yelled, the wind trying to snatch the sound of his voice, and Keith just shook with laughter.  
  
Keith didn't bother keeping track of the time, just drove them farther and farther from civilization, because he needed to put space between himself and everything that had happened—between Shiro and everyone and everything that had hurt him.  He stopped at a tiny convenience store along the way to shoot a text to Hunk to stop by and feed the cats, because he didn't intend to go back just yet.  Shiro stared at the pre-made food while Keith grabbed a couple supplies, and when Keith noticed, he paused.  
  
"I want that," Shiro murmured.  He glanced at Keith, and pointed at tub of macaroni and cheese.  "It looks good."  
  
Keith's eyebrows crept up.  The sun had been hidden behind clouds most of the day, but Keith knew that enough light filtered through to power solar cells, so it wasn't for energy.  And Shiro had clearly said _want_ , so he just shrugged and added it to his pile.  He was willing to be indulgent when it came to Shiro, and the revelation was a surprise, because he'd never had someone to spoil, before.  
  
And it was worth it, because Shiro's eyes were bright as he tucked into the mac and cheese, leaning against the side of the bike next to Keith.  "I like this," he mumbled around a bite.  "It's better than crackers."  
  
Keith scoffed.  "Of course it's better than crackers, Shiro, shit."  He leaned into Shiro's shoulder affectionately.  "Do you even need to eat?"  
  
"Biomass is a more effective fuel than solar energy, but solar energy is more accessible, cheaper."  He shrugged.  "I like eating food, though."  
  
Keith pursed his lips.  "If you prefer to eat food for energy, there's better things to eat than crackers."  He shifted more weight against Shiro's shoulder, extending the stick of beef jerky he'd been eating.  "Here.  Try this."  
  
Shiro took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, letting out a small noise.  "Not as good as the macaroni and cheese."  
  
"Suit yourself."  Keith pulled away a fraction, biting down on the jerky stick.  
  
It was kind of like a date, Keith thought idly.  They'd gone scavenging together and they worked together and they slept together (and somehow Keith rarely felt crowded by Shiro's constant presence), but Keith didn't take days off to spend time with people.  It was...nice.  Different.  It felt far away from their problems, not just in physical distance—though Shiro's expressions still flickered every so often.  
  
Keith wanted to rip away all of the bad things that had happened to Shiro, but he knew it didn't work like that.  Maybe Shiro was made from circuits and mechanical parts, but erasing data wasn't an option.  Keith wasn't even sure it was possible anymore.  So instead he let his hand settle on Shiro whenever his mouth tightened, a quiet, patient presence at his side until it passed.  Until Shiro wanted to tell him about it.  
  
Keith parked the bike in on a patch of dried grass once he felt like they were far enough away from the city.  It was quieter, and the clouds had cleared in time for them to watch the sun drop below the horizon, coloring the sky in rich, warm colors that slowly faded into the cooler tones of twilight.  
  
And then, eventually, stars, bright points against a velvety indigo-black.  
  
Shiro watched the change wordlessly, and Keith watched the play of wonder on his face.  There was beauty reflected there, and if Keith hadn't been gone before, he was now.  
  
"You're right," Shiro murmured.  It was pitch dark now, just the stars and the moon and the light of a small fire Keith had built to illuminate their impromptu camp.  "You can see a lot more stars outside the city."

"It's even better out in the desert.  There's nothing for miles and miles."  Keith tilted his head to indicate the light pollution from the city, a pink glow spread out in a blanket, peppered with lines of lights blurring into one another.  It looked farther away than Keith knew it to be.  Still too close, he thought absently.  "The cities are smaller, more spread out."  
  
"I'd like to see it.  I mean, I've seen pictures, but the way you talk about it—I want to see it how you see it."  Shiro said it simply, his voice quiet and intimate in the hush of the night, and Keith's heart stuttered.  
  
"Yeah.  We'll go sometime."  
  
It was possibly the first time Keith had thought very far into the future, but he realized he wanted that.  A future with Shiro in it, and maybe they would just spend the whole time tinkering with machines they found in the trash and snuggling up with the cats, and finding ways to skirt around Galra Industries' choke-hold monopoly.  Trips out of the city sometimes, like this.  Not so different from what Keith had been doing for a long time now, except that now he could hardly imagine it without Shiro around.  
  
He wasn't sure what that meant, given the fact that Shiro was an android.  Keith decided that was the kind of thing that he'd figure out when it came up.  
  
Keith was still lost in thought when Shiro leaned into his space, drawing him out of his reverie.  "You're looming," Keith teased, though he was caught in Shiro's gravity, closing the distance between them.  
  
Shiro smiled, humor lighting up his face.  "I'm not _looming_.  I want a kiss.  Can I?"  
  
It sounded petulant, almost, and Keith was entirely helpless against that.  He had to unfold his legs and rise up on his knees to reach Shiro, and he steadied himself with a hand on Shiro's chest.  "You don't have to ask every time.  You can decide for yourself."  
  
Shiro brought a hand up to push Keith's wild hair back from his face, and Keith wondered if even that small touch would always make his breath catch.  "I like to ask.  I want you to want it, too."  
  
Keith nodded dumbly.  "I want you to."  
  
Shiro leaned in, and it was less tentative than their first kiss had been, the soft press of lips quickly giving way to a slide of tongues.  It was hot and a little desperate, and Keith caught a handful of Shiro's shirt, dragging him closer, loving the sound that Shiro made when he did it. Keith climbed into Shiro’s lap, straddling him, and Shiro curled a steadying arm around him, the other hand still in his hair to tilt Keith’s head and deepen the kiss, and Keith opened easily.

Shiro seemed intent to explore Keith’s mouth thoroughly, slowing to dip his tongue in to touch it to Keith’s teeth, lick the roof of his mouth—and some of it felt a little weird, but Keith was too lost just in the attentiveness of it to be bothered.  Especially when Shiro chased the little noises Keith made, thrusting his tongue against Keith’s in a way that made Keith’s mind wander to _other_ things, filthy thoughts of Shiro thrusting _all of that into him_ —Keith’s thoughts cut off as Shiro caught his lip between his teeth, startling a breath out of him.  Keith blinked through a haze of desire to see Shiro looking back at him, eyes dark—deep enough to drown in, he thought dimly—and hungry.

Shiro said, “I want to touch you,” and this time it wasn’t a question, just an announcement of intent, his fingers dipping under the hem of Keith’s shirt to splay against bare skin.  “I want to learn everything about you.”  He leaned in and kissed Keith lightly, trailing lips along Keith’s jaw and then just under his ear. Shiro paused there to bite the fleshy lobe of his ear, and his next words were hot breath against Keith’s ear, “I want to make you feel good, Keith,” and Keith felt the words go straight to his dick, his breath leaving him in a hiss.

“Y-yeah.”  It wasn’t sexy or articulate but it was about all Keith could wrap his head around with Shiro’s teeth dragging against the sensitive skin of his neck.  “You—“   Somewhere in there was a question about Shiro, Keith thought vaguely, because he _knew_ , now, and was reminded of it when he slumped against Shiro, his hips stuttering forward in a bid for friction and finding an answering hardness from Shiro.

Shiro shushed him and captured Keith's lips in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.  "Let me take care of you."  It was an echo of their argument from yesterday (and had it really only been a day? It felt like this had been building for weeks), and this time Keith had no problem agreeing.  Shiro's hands felt so good running up and down his back, kneading the muscle there, and Keith's nerves sang at the difference between the two, one skin and one velvety smooth metal.  Shiro dragged Keith's shirt up and Keith lifted his arms, letting Shiro slip it over his head, and maybe Shiro had already seen everything, but it had never been like _this_ , and Keith suddenly felt exposed, a shiver slithering down his spine.

Keith distracted himself from the feeling by pawing at Shiro's shirt, once he remembered he had hands, too, and that he wanted them _all over_ Shiro.  Because he'd seen everything, too, and touched and _wanted_ , and he was finally giving in to that desire.  Shiro was smiling when Keith tugged his shirt off and got his hands on him, smoothing them over Shiro's chest, pausing to brush the shiny-pink patches that peppered his skin.

It was hard to believe that Keith had been the one to make Shiro whole, when he was so _alive_ , pushing into Keith's touch greedily, his chest heaving with sharp breaths when Keith tweaked a nipple experimentally.  He did it again, because he liked the way Shiro reacted, but then Shiro was pressing his hands against Keith's shoulders, pushing him back and to the ground.

"I want to take care of you," Shiro repeated, but this time there was an edge of command in it, his voice dark with promise.  Keith went with it, shifting his legs and falling back onto the grass in a sprawl.  And this time Shiro really _was_ looming over him—he was such a physical presence, so big and tall—but Shiro was ducking down to taste his mouth again, and Keith liked it, anyway, being under him.

Keith liked it even more when Shiro's mouth trailed back down, peppering his chest with kisses, darting his tongue out to taste.  His fingers tickled against Keith's sides, and he squirmed, choking out a breathless laugh.  "Shiro!  That's—"  Whatever he meant to say was cut off in a moan when Shiro's lips closed around a nipple, teeth teasing, and Keith curled his hands around Shiro's biceps, digging his fingers into the meat of them in an attempt to anchor himself.

Shiro pulled off Keith's nipple long enough to announce, "I like the sounds you make," before dipping down to lave the other one with his tongue (and god Shiro's candor was going to be the death of him).  Like he had with the kiss, Shiro was exploring Keith's chest with his lips and tongue and teeth.  It was a slow tease, tentative and curious, and Shiro paused to look up at Keith whenever he twitched or squirmed.  Grinned whenever Keith's voice came out in a wordless groan.

Keith was burning up and breathless, panting Shiro's name by the time he lost patience; he settled his hands on Shiro's hips and dragged him down, seeking friction.  Shiro's gasp echoed Keith's own, and suddenly Keith needed _more, right now_.  He'd already felt Shiro's hands curled around him this morning, and it seemed a crime not to have them there yet.

Keith fumbled with his own fly, tugging at the zipper one-handed, the other hand buried in Shiro's hair in a vain attempt to stave him off so Keith could concentrate on _this one thing_.  Shiro groaned when Keith tugged, the vibration of it echoing through Keith's nerves, because that was hot, _so hot._ He did it again, as counterproductive as it was, just to feel Shiro moan against his skin, and, yeah.  That was _good_ , but his pants were already uncomfortably tight with how hard he was, so he let off again.

It was a relief when Keith finally managed to unzip his pants and wriggle his hips enough to shove them down, a sigh escaping his lips.

One of Shiro's big hands drifted down, pausing to squeeze the jut of Keith's hip.  "Can I?"

“ _Fuck_ , Shiro, just touch me already,” Keith huffed.  He wrapped his hand on Shiro’s wrist, urging him to _move his hand already, fuck_ , but Shiro took his time, dragging his fingertips over the fabric of Keith’s boxers in feather-light touches that made his toes curl, tracing the outline of his erection and watching the trail of his own fingers avidly.  Keith pushed his hips up in a bid for more friction, but Shiro retreated just enough to prevent it.

“Impatient,” Shiro hummed.  He pressed a kiss into the hollow of Keith’s neck.  “I said I want to learn _everything_ about you.  Will you let me?”

Keith grit his teeth and nodded, letting his head fall back against the grass.  He was going to lose his mind like this, with Shiro’s torturously slow exploration with his hands—a thumb under his waistband, the light touch of his palm against Keith’s cock that retreated before Keith could even react with more than a strangled moan, and if he’d _known_ Shiro would be like this— _fuck_ , he thought, _it was exactly like Shiro to want to learn everything._

A thought occurred to him, making its way past the haze of Keith’s arousal, past the clumsiness of his fingers until he had his hands hooked into the top of Shiro’s pants, not yet dragging him down (despite the overwhelming urge to—Keith was no match for Shiro with all his blood pumping south).  Instead he undid Shiro’s pants, breathing out his own question— “This okay?”—and waiting for a nod before reaching for Shiro’s cock.

Shiro was full and heavy in his hand, a velvet heat that Keith couldn’t help but smooth his hands over, as curious as Shiro, because even if he had serviced sex bots before, he’d never done _this_. It was one thing to know what technology was capable of creating, and yet another to actually _experience_ it.  And Shiro was all that and _more_ , hot breaths and moans, curious hands and mouth, hips surging under Keith’s touch.

 _All real desire_.  There was no mistaking it, nothing to compare it to.

Shiro dragged his mouth back up Keith’s body to kiss him, clumsy and desperate as Keith moved his hands over him, and then—then Shiro was making a sound like a whimper, hips stuttering, and Keith blinked in surprise as Shiro _came_ , hot spurts on his stomach, coating his hands.  Keith let out a hiss of breath, “ _Shit_ , Shiro,” disbelief coloring his voice, his own cock jumping in interest against Shiro’s suddenly still hand.  He stroked Shiro through it in amazement, a distant part of him wondering what it would taste like if he licked it from his fingers, but Shiro was chanting his name breathlessly, distracting him before he could find out.

Keith was still reeling from it when Shiro mumbled an apology, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—you didn’t come yet.”  That little crease had appeared between his brows, and Keith huffed out a laugh.

“No shit, you’re a fucking _tease_ , Shiro, why—“

His voice trailed off into a low groan, because Shiro’s mouth was on him again, trailing down, pausing to lap at the mess on Keith briefly and then continuing until he was mouthing Keith through fabric.  “Wanted you to come,” and it was petulant, but Keith could barely think because _finally_ Shiro was dragging his waistband down, _finally_ he was wrapping his hand around Keith’s length.  Shiro’s mouth followed immediately, and Keith’s world narrowed down to just that: wet heat around him, slick tongue pressed against him, the sweet suction of Shiro’s mouth dragging Keith’s voice out of him in helpless moans.  And then Shiro sank his mouth down, swallowing Keith whole, and Keith’s vision blurred, hips jumping desperately to sink into it.

Keith felt his cock bump the back of Shiro’s throat and it was _perfect,_ but his eyes widened at the thought and he made an effort to draw back, afraid of Shiro choking.  But Shiro shoved a hand under his ass, urging Keith up with no room to back off as he bobbed his head, letting Keith fuck into his mouth—and that was it, Keith was tipping over the edge, skin prickling and fingers clutching in Shiro’s hair as he came. Keith was dimly aware of Shiro swallowing it up, and he wondered if that was an android thing or a Shiro thing.

It was a Shiro thing, he decided, because of course it was.  His grip on Shiro’s hair loosened and he let his hands drift down to run over Shiro’s skin, to guide him back up for a kiss—and _fuck_ it was hot, to taste himself in Shiro’s mouth.

“Where did you even learn that?”  Keith groaned with the lingering pleasure coursing through him, settling into loose-limbed afterglow.  “There’s no way that’s standard programming.”  Keith tugged his clothes back on reluctantly, still sensitive and wanting to be skin-to-skin with Shiro, but there was a breeze carrying a slight chill and that was even less comfortable.

Shiro righted his own clothes and tucked himself against Keith’s side, humming.  “I read a lot.”

“Oh.”  There were more questions he could ask, but Keith’s mind was pleasantly quiet, and he was more interested in curling up closer to Shiro, basking in his warmth.  Their legs tangled together, and they’d slept together every night since Shiro had come to, but this felt more intimate, somehow.  Keith stared up at the stars, more content than he’d ever remembered being.

Keith drifted off like that, and when he woke again, it was to the sun creeping up into the sky, and his head in Shiro’s lap.  Shiro was petting his hair idly, his gaze distant, but he looked down when he realized Keith was awake.

“I remembered something,” Shiro said, and his tone was that carefully neutral one that Keith had come to realize meant he didn’t know how to react to something.  “I met Sam and Matt Holt.  Back in the lab where I was kept.  I don’t know where they are now, but they were alive when they left.  I’m sure of it.  I was there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags promised robot sex and I'm happy to deliver...! XD


	4. Four

The ride back to the city was subdued, compared to their trip out.  It wasn't a joy ride—wasn't meant to run away and clear their minds.  Instead they were racing back to share everything Shiro remembered with Pidge, to help her find her family.  
  
Shiro was pressed close to his back again, a reassuring presence there even as Keith's gut roiled with anxiety.  
  
Pidge was waiting inside Keith's shop when they arrived—she and Hunk still had access on the new lock—fiddling with a small companion bot with a fervor that spoke of her own anxiety.  She dropped it and jumped to her feet, staring at them with wide eyes.  Keith had barely shut the door before she said, "Well?"  
  
"Shiro said—"  
  
Shiro gave him a look, and Keith closed his mouth, letting Shiro speak.  "Pidge.  Your family—I did know them.  They were developers in the lab where I was kept."  Pidge's eyes narrowed.  "They knew a lot of proprietary information, from what I gathered, but beyond that...they knew about me.  Before I even realized it, I think they knew I was more than what I was supposed to be.  They talked about blowing the whistle, when there was no one else around to hear their plans.  They said that they couldn't continue working on the project—me—because it was unethical.  But someone must have heard them, because suddenly Galra brought in more security, and there were guards on Matt and Sam at all times.  They weren't allowed to leave."  
  
Shiro's brow furrowed and he frowned down at his right hand, flexing it.  "I don't know why I was made, or what my purpose was supposed to be, but Galra equipped me with access to their intranet.  It was hard-wired into my arm."  He looked back up to face Pidge.  "I entered the system and altered information, unlocked doors, and found a way for them to get out."  Shiro's expression hardened.  "And they did, I made sure of it."  
  
Pidge was staring Shiro down, mouth tight.  "If they got out like you said, why haven't they come home yet?  Why didn't they try to expose Galra Industries?"

  
Shiro's face went blank.  "I—I don't know."  He pursed his lips.  "Maybe they're trying to avoid being found.  Didn't you say you were being watched?"  
  
"Not to you."  Pidge's voice had a hard edge to it.  "How do you know about that?"  
  
"When you were helping Keith, when I first got here.  You said something about it, and I heard you.  You said it..."  Shiro trailed off, his eyes going distant.  "Before reactivating my QE core."  
  
Pidge's eyes snapped to Keith.  "That's not possible.  Keith, Shiro wasn't even active yet, there's _no way_ he could've heard that unless he was already active _because he's a plant_."  
  
Keith crossed his arms, unconvinced.  "Shiro's not a plant, Pidge.  He's different from anything we've ever encountered—I know that, you know that, and according to Shiro, your brother and your dad knew that.  It's not impossible if he doesn't need his QE core running to be aware of what is going on.  We don't know what he's capable of."  
  
Pidge huffed.  "Exactly.  We don't know.  So we don't know that he's not someone sent by Galra to—"  
  
Keith cut her off.  "To what, Pidge?  Spy on us?  We aren't doing anything wrong; whatever they say, there's no laws against it, and we're not a threat.  We know how to handle them, we've done it before and we'll do it again.  Shiro is just Shiro.  He's not going to turn on us." 

Pidge crossed her arms, mirroring Keith.  “Fine, but that still doesn’t explain why, if Dad and Matt were alive and well and free, they didn’t try to at least _contact_ Mom and me to let us know they were okay.  They know how to get a message to me without being traced.  So sorry if I don’t believe Shiro when he says they got out.”  She angled herself to face Shiro, scowling.  “Maybe there’s still a problem with your memory, or maybe it was planted. I don’t know.”

Shiro frowned, but didn’t deny it; it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, Keith realized.  He squared his shoulders. “Well, maybe Shiro _did_ see them, and maybe he _did_ try to help them out.  Maybe something else happened that he didn’t know about.”  He hastened to add, “They’re probably too valuable to the company to lose.  So they’re probably still there, right?  It’s a start, if we know they’re still somewhere at Galra Industries.”

Pidge’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.  There are parts of Galra’s network that even I can’t get into.”  She flushed and ducked her head. “I couldn’t find anything on Shiro, either.  It’s suspicious.  But there’s gotta be a way to find out. _Someone_ knows _something_.”  Pidge took a deep breath.  “I’m going to hit up Kolivan and see if he has any leads.”

Keith slumped.  “He might. Ulaz—Shiro said Ulaz was the one who helped him escape.  Maybe he managed to get some intel to Kolivan before he..."  Keith trailed off, unable to say it.  Died.  Was killed, because as much as he brushed off Galra's threat to them, there was no denying that they had done lasting damage to people that they'd perceived as a threat.  There was no way to prove that that was the case, but the timing of Ulaz's death couldn't be coincidental.  Keith drew in a fortifying breath.  "I can ask him."  
  
Pidge glanced at Shiro, and then gave Keith a hard look.  "No.  I'll go."  She gathered up the companion bot she'd been working on and tucked it into her bag.  "I'm going to find them, Keith."  She pointedly looked between Keith and Shiro again.  "I'm happy you're happy, Keith, but don't forget, Galra made Shiro.  Maybe he's overcome his default programming, but we can't say for sure.  When I get Dad and Matt back, they can help you figure it out."  
  
Keith swallowed down the lump in his throat.  "Yeah."  He had no doubt Pidge would be able to find Sam and Matt, but Shiro...he didn't want to think that she was right about Shiro.  He was already too invested in their budding relationship—the heated kisses and the solid presence at his back, on his bike or curled up in bed—to think that he could be wrong about Shiro, after all.  "Let me know if you need my help with anything."  
  
She hefted her bag and quirked her lips in a shadow of a smile.  "I will."  
  
Keith waited until the door had closed behind Pidge before turning to Shiro, who was leaning with his hands flat on one of the workbenches, head bowed and looking dejected.  "Shiro..."  
  
"I wanted to help.  I thought I was helping, but what if—what if Pidge is right?  What if there's still programming I can't overcome?  That I don't even know about?"  
  
Keith sighed.  "Then we'll figure out a way around it."  He shuffled over so he could rest a hand on Shiro's shoulder.  "You want to help, and that's the important part."  
  
Shiro straightened and looked at Keith, that crease appearing between his brows.  "But what if I do more harm than good?"  
  
Keith raised his hand to smooth away the crease, pursing his lips.  "Then it wouldn't be your fault, Shiro.  None of it is your fault.  We'll figure everything out."  
  
Keith didn't feel as confident as his words made him sound, but it seemed to console Shiro, who caught his hand and held it.  "Thank you, Keith."  
  
Keith wasn't sure who drew who into the hug—he wanted to do it to comfort Shiro, but he also selfishly wanted to be wrapped up in Shiro's arms and remind himself this was real and ignore the seed of doubt that was lodged at the back of his mind—but it felt natural, and Keith sank into it, letting out another sigh.  He wanted to do more, to drag Shiro into the apartment at the back of the shop and push him onto the mattress and let Shiro learn a little more, but there was work to do.  Keith didn't have many strict deadlines, but finishing projects faster meant getting paid faster, and Keith preferred to stay busy when he had a lot on his mind.  
  
Keith pulled away reluctantly, tilting his head to press a kiss to Shiro's cheek as they parted.  He caught sight of a flash of orange fur in his peripherals and chuckled.  "Red missed us."  
  
Shiro smiled, turning to look.  Red was glaring imperiously from on top of a nearby table; Black jumped up to join her a moment later, tail curling as he let out a small mew.  "Hey guys."  Shiro showered them with affection, scratching behind ears, and Keith's cheeks hurt with how hard it made him smile.  Shiro looked over at Keith without pulling away from the cats, his expression smoothing into something more neutral.  "They took my arm because of it.  Because when I tried to help the Holts, I accessed the intranet without a directive.  I—I thought I succeeded.  I really did."  
  
"I know."  He squeezed Shiro's shoulder.  "Don't worry about it.  Pidge will find them."  Keith trailed his hand down to trace the join of Shiro's prosthetic.  "You're safe here."  
  
The rest of the day passed uneventfully.  In the brief lulls of his work, Keith wondered what Pidge was planning, and if she'd ask for help, but he knew the answer to that second question.  He and Shiro moved around each other as easily as ever, pausing for affectionate kisses that sometimes turned heated before Keith dragged himself away again.

It was almost as if nothing had changed, except _everything_ had.

.o.

The next few days were quiet; Keith and Shiro spent most of their time doing everything they usually did—fixing things and filling commissions for customizations—and kept an open line of communication with Pidge and Kolivan.  There wasn’t much for Keith and Shiro to do to that end, and if they wound up curled up together with shared breaths and greedy mouths, well—Shiro was an avid learner, and Keith was just _eager_.  
  
The scuffle with the sentinels felt like it happened an eternity ago, long enough that Keith didn't really think about it when he sent Shiro out on a scavenging errand.  He didn't think much of it when Shiro wasn't back by the time he slipped into bed, because Shiro knew enough to navigate through Daibazaal, by now, and it wasn't unusual for him to slide into the bed with Keith well after Keith had drifted off to sleep.  Shiro had access to the lock, after all, and sometimes the best scavenging on the streets was when Keith preferred to be sleeping.  
  
Keith woke up in the middle of his sleep cycle (and that was phrasing he'd picked up with Shiro, of all things), disoriented and groggy.  He lifted his head, trying to figure out what had woken him—Shiro wasn't there, he noted, but he was probably out in the shop still.  Keith curled his fingers into the blankets, nestling into the bed, before it occurred to him that there was only silence and darkness in the shop.  He pursed his lips and shifted, disturbing Red and Black as he sat up, but...something was nagging at his mind.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
Keith retrieved his knife from the bedside table, and then paused when his eyes caught on his phone.  Its screen was black—no notifications from Shiro—and Keith frowned.  He closed his hand around that, too, before tiptoeing out into the shop, blinking to activate his oculars.  He scanned the room, but everything was quiet and undisturbed.  
  
There was no sign of Shiro.  
  
Keith pursed his lips and retreated back to his bed to look at his phone.  Keith stared at it blankly, expecting some update from Shiro.  Not that Shiro had ever really called or texted, there was never a need to—but there was nothing and Keith was still half-asleep, and Shiro wasn't back yet but—he would be back in the morning.  Keith told himself that and burrowed back into his blankets, even though it felt empty without Shiro there.  
  
Shiro was _not_ back in the morning, and Keith was cranky and sleep-deprived, his mood made even worse because Shiro wasn't there to press a steaming mug of coffee into his hands as soon as he was alert enough to climb out of bed.  Keith tried to decipher the message on his phone while the coffee pot filled, agonizingly slow, but only succeeded in giving himself a headache.  He gave up and punched in the number to contact Shiro, but there was no response.  
  
Keith scowled, and then frowned, because Shiro wouldn't just disappear.  He was his own person, now, but he wouldn't just leave Keith.  There were other explanations, but none of them made Keith feel any better.  Maybe Pidge was right.  Partially right.  Shiro definitely wasn't falling victim to default programming, Keith had to believe that much.  But if the break-in the other night had been related, if Galra was trying to recover their property...maybe they'd gotten their hands on Shiro when Keith wasn't there.  
  
His stomach sank with guilt.  Pidge had warned him, and he'd only brushed her off, and now Shiro was missing.  
  
Keith snatched his tablet and started tapping at it frantically, calling up all the data he had on Shiro.  There was a tracker on the phone he'd given him—Keith had never needed to use it before, but he was glad that it was an option, now.  Maybe whoever took Shiro hadn't noticed it.  Keith activated it and bit his thumb anxiously while it loaded on the tablet.  
  
A map appeared on the screen with a pinned location, stationary.  The fact that it was unmoving could mean anything, and Keith shuddered, suddenly cold all over.  Shiro could've—maybe someone stopped him there.  Or maybe the phone had simply been dropped there.  Keith didn't know which was worse, the thought that he couldn't track Shiro if he'd dropped his phone, or the thought that something had happened to Shiro that left him unable to move.

Keith pushed the information to his phone and hurried to dress, fingers clumsy on buttons and boot laces and feeling jittery because he needed to find Shiro _now_.  The shop door slammed behind him and Keith hardly registered the lock activating before he was swinging a leg over his bike and gunning it out of the alley, the roar of its motor echoing through the narrow streets.  The few people out stared at him, but they were blurs sliding past in his peripheries.

Maybe it was an overreaction, Keith thought.  Shiro was fine, probably.  Maybe it was just a malfunction freezing him in place, and if someone happened to find him...if someone happened to find him, there was nothing to lead them back to Keith except Shiro himself, and there were scavengers around who were more mercenary than Keith was.  There were also people who saw broken droids and simply put them on the curb to be taken to trash sites.

Fuck, but he was already attached to Shiro, more than he'd realized.  It wasn't even that Keith had let their relationship tip over the edge into something romantic (though that was part of it), but that Keith had started to love and respect Shiro for what he was, had let him into his space and past his walls in all the time they'd been spending together both in and out of the shop.

Daibazaal's sectors hurtled by on either side of him, and it still wasn't fast enough.  Keith cursed himself for not being more cautious, for forgetting that Shiro had once been someone else's _property_ —probably Galra's—and that they could want him back.  Shiro could take care of himself, but that didn't mean it was safe to let him wander around on his own.

There was a spray of dirt and debris as Keith banked the bike around a corner and hit the brakes, straightening to scan the street for any sign of Shiro.  It was the location indicated on his map, but...nothing.  No gleam of silver prosthetic, no shock of white hair.  Keith stumbled off his bike and turned his attention to the ground in earnest, looking for Shiro's phone, as if finding it would give him any hint of where Shiro had gone after dropping it.

It was hardly reassuring that Shiro wasn't slumped in a pile of trash like he had been when Keith first found him.  (At least _then_ Keith could have fixed him.)  Shiro's phone, when Keith found it, offered no clues to what had happened to Shiro, aside from the spidery cracks in the screen, and Keith let out a string of curses.

Keith pocketed Shiro's phone and pulled out his own, dialing Pidge.  There was no answer, and still none when Keith tried again.  It wasn't like her to not answer, but with everything they'd learned recently...when Keith got her voicemail a third time, he grit out, "Pidge, Shiro's _gone_ ," and hung up.  The next call went to Hunk, and Keith nearly sighed in relief when Hunk's sleepy voice came on after the fifth ring.  "Hunk, where's Pidge?  She's not answering her phone."

There was a thump and a groan on the other end before Hunk's voice came on again.  "Keith, what time is it even?  I don't know where Pidge is, she left last night saying she needed to check something out.  What's this about, buddy?"

Keith huffed and made his way back to his bike, phone pressed to his ear.  "Shiro's gone.  The other day Pidge did something to free up some corrupted memories he had, and right before that there was a break-in at the shop."  It made Keith feel worse, saying it out loud, his chest tightening with it.  "Pidge—Pidge was looking into some stuff Shiro remembered, and she thought maybe the things he was remembering were related to the break-in.  I didn't worry about it before, but now I think she was right."  Keith bit his lip.  "I was hoping she could help me find Shiro."

Hunk was quiet on the line.  Finally he said, "Pidge went dark.  I can't get a signal on her.  You can't find anything with Shiro?"

"No."

"Alright.  I'll start running some scans on the city.  I'll let you know if I find anything."  Hunk sighed.  "It was about her family, wasn't it?"

Keith nodded, then realized that Hunk couldn't see him.  "Yeah.  Shiro said he saw them in the lab where he was kept."

Hunk hummed.  "She can take care of herself.  She's smarter than any of us."

"I'm not worried about Pidge."  Keith leaned against the side of his bike and scraped a hand through his hair.  "Shiro, he's—I don't _know_.  What if whoever made him wasn't done with him?"  Keith tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but only succeeded in letting out a strangled half-sob.   _What if he wasn't what Keith thought he was?_

"You really care for him, don't you," Hunk murmured.

"He's just a droid I keep around," Keith muttered.  It sounded exactly like the bald-faced lie it was.

"Right.  Well, he's valuable and we'll track him down for you, alright?  So don't worry about it, buddy.  I'm already on it."  There was a beep and then silence, and Keith was grateful that Hunk hadn't made him come up with a response to that.

Keith climbed back onto the bike and slumped in its seat for a few minutes, collecting himself, before he turned the engine over.  Daibazaal was a huge city, but Keith wasn't going to give up on Shiro.

.o.

Hours passed before exhaustion forced Keith back to the shop.  There was no sign of Shiro.  Hunk had nothing, and there was complete radio silence from Pidge.  Keith paused long enough to force some food down, before he collapsed into bed, too tired to do anything else.

His sleep was fitful, though, and he gave up on it after only a few hours of tossing and turning.

Keith made an attempt at working to take his mind off of Shiro's disappearance, because he still had no leads, but he was only partially successful.  He finished one of his commissions, somehow, despite his mind being filled with the white noise of worry and frustration.

He sent word to Coran and Kolivan about Shiro, because Allura's company and the Blade of Marmora both had more people and resources—but Shiro was a low priority.

Keith grit his teeth and spent the second half of the second day scouring the streets of Daibazaal again.  He asked around seedy little bars and chop shops and waved his credit chip around when he needed to.  He was met with blank stares, apathy, and one scowling man who sent him after a false lead that left him seething with rage—but the man was gone by the time Keith went back to find him.

It was a fruitless endeavor, but it beat standing around in his shop and brooding over his thoughts.  It kept him moving, on his feet and his bike until he was too tired to keep going, and he fell into an exhausted heap in his bed, trying not to notice how empty it felt without Shiro.  Red and Black were agitated, too, though it was hard to say if it was because they missed Shiro, too, or if they were reacting to Keith's mood.  Keith liked to think it was the former, and murmured reassurances to them while he tried to drift off to sleep.

"It's okay, guys.  I'll bring him back."

Lance came by on the third day, before Keith was out the door.  He paused at the threshold, looked Keith up and down, and said flatly, "You look like shit."

"Fuck you.  What do you want, Lance?"

Lance held his hands up in a placating gesture.  "I was just stopping by to see how things went with the item I procured for you last time.  You know, for your handsome _friend_."

"Shiro's _gone_ ," Keith snapped, and it was exhausting just saying it.  "So unless you have him hidden in your truck, you had better get out of my shop."

"Ah.  So he didn't appreciate—"

Keith cut him off with a sharp look.  "It's not like that."  Keith wilted visibly, and Lance changed tactics, his voice softening.

"Alright, so...what _is_ it like?  Maybe I can help you."

Keith gave him a dark look.  "None of our normal information channels have been able to come up with anything.  No one on the street has seen him.  He just.  Disappeared."  Keith bowed his head, clenching his hands into fists.  "I sent him on a scavenging run and he never came back.  I should've gone with him."

Lance was quiet, considering Keith's words.  "So...you're saying someone snatched him?  I mean he's fine as hell, but isn't that a bit extreme?"

Keith took a deep breath.  "Lance.  Shiro—he's an _android_.  I mean, he's more than that, obviously, but he's made with Galra tech."

Lance's eyes widened.  " _Oh_."  He flailed a little, and if Keith hadn't been preoccupied with thoughts of Shiro, he might've laughed.  "That's—okay.  So, Galra built him, you found him, and now...he's gone again.  And...you think Galra is responsible?"

Keith scrubbed a hand through his hair.  "I can't come up with a better explanation.  Pidge seemed to think it was a possibility, but she's off the grid right now, trying to find her dad and brother."  Keith felt his resolve cracking marginally, and he dropped his hand with a sigh.  "You saw him, Lance, but you didn't see all of it.  When I found Shiro, he wasn't even online.  Maybe Galra made him, but they definitely weren't afraid to break him, and I'm not sure they were done with him."  Keith's breath hitched.  "Shiro said Ulaz helped him get out of their labs.  That was right before Ulaz turned up dead."

Keith bit his lip to stop the flow of words.  It was strange, sharing all of this with Lance, but he felt lost.  He wasn't going to give up on Shiro, but he was running out of ideas.

"Okay."  Lance pursed his lips, face thoughtful.  "Shiro got out of there with help the first time, right?  So someone has to know something.  It wasn't me, but there's only a couple others that do their runs out of Galra's labs.  It's a risky business, you know?"  Lance shrugged.  "Maybe we can figure out which lab they were using.  I can get you in and out, if I have something to work with.  But for something like this?  Infiltrating their HQ to steal some prototype...  We might only get one shot."

Keith stared.  Lance was resourceful, he knew, but he hadn't expected this.

Lance seemed to take Keith's silence as an answer, and slapped him on the back.  "Right.  Well, keep looking in the meantime, but if we find out your lover-bot is at Galra, I'll help you get him out.  There's a price, of course, but the fact that I'm willing to do it at all should tell you how much I care."

Keith's temper flared again.  "He's not a sex bot."

But Lance was already out the door, the sound of the truck's ignition drowning out Keith's rebuttal.  Keith scowled after him, but couldn't help the flicker of hope that maybe Lance would be able to turn up something after everything else had failed.

Still, he trudged back outside to his bike.  It was already routine, to turn the engine over and trawl through Daibazaal's sprawling network of streets, passing through each of its sectors in search of anything that might lead him to Shiro.

The next day, and then the following one, were more of the same: nothing.  Keith caught sight of himself in the mirror, ashen skin with dark circles under his eyes, and it nearly sent him into hysterical laughter.  All this for an _android_.  Him of all people, after all of his hard rules about how he interacted with machines, and here he was, pining for his lost robot.  Attached after a handful of weeks, like a schoolboy with his first crush.  It was almost ironic.

Almost, except he _knew_ Shiro was more than that.  He couldn't explain it, because how did you define something like consciousness when AI was a staple of technology?  But he _knew_ , and that was enough to drive Keith forward, to keep looking.  He couldn't bear the thought of Shiro back in the hands of the people that had broken him in the first place, and so he did his best not to think of it.

Keith stumbled back into the shop after yet another fruitless day of searching to find Pidge waiting inside, face pinched and drawn.  She didn't look much better than him, he thought idly, and he wondered if she'd made any progress in finding her family.  He said as much out loud, peeling his jacket off and letting it drop onto the nearest table.

"I did.  Kolivan had the names of a couple of guards from Ulaz's intel, before he was made.  I paid one of them a visit on the way home.  The other one is missing, I wasted three days looking for her, but this guy just needed a little bit of persuasion to talk."  She sighed.  "He said he recognized Dad and Matt.  They're in there, working on some top-secret project.  It lines up with what we already knew."  Pidge frowned.  "With what Shiro told us, actually.  That they're being held there against their will.  But the guard didn't mention anything about them making a break for it.  Dad and Matt are safe, from the sounds of it—probably too valuable to damage, is my guess."

"That's—that's good to hear, actually.  If we can pin down their location, Lance might be able to get them out."

Pidge hummed.  "Yeah, we're already working on it.  It's not going to be easy.  I could use a little help."

Keith waved a dismissive hand.  "Of course."  And, because he had to know, "Did he say anything about Shiro?"

He was half-afraid Pidge hadn't asked, but she was nothing if not thorough.  Pidge squared her shoulders.  "Not in any certain terms.  He said one of the other scientists was working on a project, some kind of advanced droid, but only a handful of guards even took on that duty because they had a bad feeling about it.  Just, 'a bad feeling,' he said, until they started hearing screaming in the lab.  But they never saw anyone other than the scientist going in and out, and it wasn't her making the noises."  Her mouth twisted.  "Apparently Dad and Matt went in there a few times.  They weren't hurt, but whatever they saw, they didn't like."

Keith gave Pidge a tired smile.  "Sounds like you were pretty persuasive."

Pidge adjusted her glasses.  "I can be.  There's a lot at stake, here."  And there was.  Not just Shiro, but Matt and Sam Holt's freedom.  "I got your message, by the way.  But Keith—it doesn't sound like they brought Shiro back to the lab.  Wherever he's at, I'm not sure it's there.  Either that, or they have him under lockdown even more than they did before."

Keith's mouth tightened around a frown.  "From what Lance said, we'd only have one shot at infiltrating Galra.  We'd have to make it count.  If Shiro's in there—"

Pidge cut him off.  "I know you have a thing for him, Keith, but I'm telling you now, if it came down to choosing him or Dad and Matt, you know the choice I would make.  And I'm not going to delay any plans just so you can go after an android."

"I know!"  Keith huffed, because he would never make Pidge make that choice.  "Just, if he's _there_ , we gotta try!"

Pidge made a noncommittal noise.  "I'm not even _sure_ he's there.  We'll find out, but Keith—"  Pidge shook her head, leaving the thought unfinished.

Keith didn't need to hear whatever she was going to say, anyway.

"It's going to take days to plan," she said finally.  "Hopefully we'll have more to work with by then."

Keith grit his teeth.  If Galra was going to break Shiro again, he wanted to get to him as soon as he could.  But Pidge was right.  This was the kind of thing that would take time to plan.  It would require patience.  Keith closed his eyes, and he could picture Shiro's soft smile, could feel the gentle touch of his lips and his hands, and it helped harden his resolve.  "Alright."

After that, Keith spent as much time at Pidge and Hunk's shop as he did scouring the city for signs of Shiro.  Sleep was a hazy memory, traded for more productive things, and only when his body tried to slow him down did he bother closing his eyes for more than a couple of minutes at a time.  There was security to dodge, cameras and locks to hack, locations to verify.  They managed to narrow down Matt and Sam's location to only two possibilities based on the guard's information, and Lance was still wheedling one of the other delivery drivers to switch schedules, but they had a backup plan in case he failed.

Keith grew more and more anxious as the hours passed by, with no new information on Shiro's whereabouts.

They were a day out from enacting their plan when Pidge muttered, "I don't know if it's a good sign that Sendak's been scarce lately, or if he's up to something else."

Hunk waved a dismissive hand.  "At least he's not here breathing down our necks while we're trying to plan a rescue mission.”

"Maybe he _was_ after Shiro, all along."  Pidge shot Keith a look that somehow managed to be sympathetic and say _I told you so_ all at once.

Keith didn’t bother hiding his scowl.  He crossed his arms, staring Pidge down, as if she was at fault (and that wasn’t fair, but Keith was too agitated to care).  "What, you think that means Shiro's back in Galra hands?"

"Maybe he gave up?"

Pidge shook her head, and Hunk’s hopeful expression wilted.  "I doubt it.  He's a persistent guy."

"It'll make things easier if Shiro's back at Galra's labs."  Keith stood abruptly, too full of nervous energy to sit still any longer.  "Maybe Lance or Kolivan heard something.  I’m leaving."

Hunk and Pidge watched him stalk to the door, and Pidge called after him, "Just remember our schedule!  Twenty-one hundred tomorrow night!"  Keith huffed, but he knew he'd be back in time, no matter what he found out.

Which turned out to be the same as it had been for the past week: nothing.  Keith bit back curses of frustration, and this time when he climbed onto the hover bike, it was to just _ride_.  There wasn't any chance of him clearing his head, but at the very least it was calming.  He tried not to think too much about the joy ride with Shiro that ended up being their last time on the bike together, and the night they spent under the open sky.  Shiro's mouth on him—

Keith hauled his bike into a sharp turn, making for the city limits.  He missed the desert, suddenly, without all of the complications that came with living in the city that housed Galra Industries HQ.  He missed the quiet, the endless blue sky, and his heart clenched at the thought of never being able to show it to Shiro, even if only for a night or two.  He wouldn’t trade away the life he'd built in the city—the friendships he formed, the family he found, the people he helped—but some things just couldn't be found there.

The wind whipped Keith's tears from his eyes, so that there was only a dry salt-sting to accompany his shuddering breaths.  He wasn't supposed to feel this way, and he _hated_ it.

Keith brought the bike to a halt just past the outer reaches of the city, where green started to take over and the clamor of the city was muted.  He breathed deep, collecting himself.  He was going to find Shiro, he was sure of it.  He had to.  Whether he was with the Holts at Galra, or somewhere else, Keith wanted to see him again, to learn everything that Shiro's budding sentience entailed, together.  To learn if Shiro could use the word _love_ as easily as he used _want_ and _like_.

.o.

Even at night, the city wasn't truly quiet.  Lights lined the streets and nighttime revelers stumbled in and out of clubs and bars.

Lance's route took them through the outskirts of one of the busier districts, but it was quiet in the back of the truck where Keith was crouched with Pidge and Hunk.  The business district wouldn't be entirely deserted when they got there, Lance said, but it was the quietest part of the day.  Night deliveries were normal, and also the prime time for smuggling Galra tech out with the trash.  Keith muttered that it seemed unlikely that Galra hadn't noticed it, but Lance waved him off and said, "Have faith in the system!"

Keith didn't have faith in the system, per se, but he trusted Pidge's judgement in planning, especially with so much on the line for her.

A knock on the side of the truck signaled their start, and Keith, Pidge, and Hunk eased out of the truck when Lance opened the door.  They had run through the plan more times than Keith could count—enough that he knew every detail and every contingency.  Pidge and Hunk would explore the locations they'd come up with for Sam and Matt's detention, and Keith would have that window to track down Shiro.

Keith pulled a mask over his face, jaw set in determination as he followed Pidge and Hunk in.

There were sentinels in the halls, and other security bots, because they were cheaper than personnel, and more reliable, but even Galra didn't rely entirely on tech, so there were also guards on duty.  Keith split off from Pidge and Hunk once they were out of the loading dock and in the service corridors.  He moved on silent feet, ducking into blind spots and supply closets when he had to, carefully opening every door he could find.

Not that he expected Shiro to be behind an unlocked door, but Pidge planned for that as well.  Keith held up the 'key' Pidge made, watching as numbers and letters flickered over the minuscule screen, corresponding to the lock mechanism in front of him.  There was soft _beep_ after only a handful of seconds, and the door opened for him.  The room was filled with the steady hum of machinery, and Keith recognized the stack configuration of servers, cool air blowing through the room.  It was unlikely Shiro would be in there, but Keith jogged down the side of the room anyway, just to be sure.

Nothing.

Another room, this one a lab with blinking computer displays, but no Shiro.

A room lined with inactive sentinels.

Another lab, a room filled with empty cubicles, a warehouse lined with shelves laden with boxes and tech ready to be shipped out, and endless halls with the black and violet of Galra Industries, and _still no Shiro_.  Over the comms, Hunk’s voice crackled with an update on their time frame, and then a choked, gleeful yell from Pidge, " _Dad!  Matt!_ "

No Shiro.  Not even a hint that he'd ever even been here in the first place, but Galra was a huge place and he had to _keep looking_.

"Keith, buddy, any luck?"

Keith's lungs burned from sprinting down the halls, or maybe from the panic crawling down his throat.  "No," he croaked, skidding around a corner.  "I'm gonna keep looking."

Pidge's voice, somewhere between joy and concern, "Keith, we're heading back to the truck.  We've got ten minutes left.  You need to be back by then."

Keith panted into the comms.  "Or what, you'll leave me?"  He fumbled another lock open.

"We can regroup later.  Come on, you need to get to the truck."

Whatever else they had to say drowned out as Keith stared at the new room.  It was a lab, he could tell that much, but while every other room he'd seen had been immaculate, this one was in ruins.  There were upended shelves, and sentinels crumpled beyond repair.  Wires in tangled messes on the floor.  A metal table outfitted with heavy leather straps.

Keith felt a shiver crawl down his spine as he made his way deeper into the room.  There was a window on the far side, looking out over the city with stars twinkling in the sky above.  He didn't let his gaze linger on it, instead studying the room further, something heavy forming in the pit of his stomach.  There was a pod against one wall, big enough to house a humanoid robot, and Keith stepped over to it carefully, one hand going for his knife, half-afraid of what he'd find in there.  Shiro, maybe—?

"There's nothing in there."

Keith stilled, eyes wide at the unfamiliar voice.  It was female, gritty with age or maybe something else, and iron-hard.  He turned slowly, thankful that he'd had the foresight to cover his face.  The woman was gaunt, with lank white hair loose around her face, and a weird light in her eyes.  Keith shifted his grip on his knife and grounded himself, ready to fight his way past if he had to—even if she didn't look like much.  His instincts were screaming at him that there was something _wrong_ with this woman, that she was stronger than she looked.

"It was a failure, so it was destroyed."  The woman advanced on him, pausing to rest a hand on the metal table.  "A shame, really.  It had so much potential."  She looked familiar, Keith thought numbly, but his mind was too busy trying to latch on to what she was saying.  The woman laughed, something dark and maniacal.  "You're not the first to try to steal it.  But it's gone now—aren't you the foolish one."  Her smile was crooked and sharp. "What you're looking for is _gone_ , boy."

Keith knew she meant Shiro.  It was there on a sign hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room:  5-H-1-R-0, but he couldn't believe it.  He was shaking, because it couldn't be true.  She was lying, she was wrong—she was _crazy_.  " _No!_ "  His muscles tensed, braced to lunge at the woman and shake some sense into her, to find out the truth, but there were sentinels appearing in his peripheries, and the comms a frantic buzz in his ear—

Keith grit his teeth and lunged, but not in an attack.  He ran, his heart an impossible, erratic beat in his chest.

"I'm—I'm coming," Keith bit out between breaths.  "I've got company."

"Keith, just get your ass to the truck so we can get out of here!"

Keith dodged a sentinel and whipped around a corner.  It was enough to catch the sentinel when it turned after him, and he disabled it with a well-placed twist of his knife.  He was more cautious as he made his way back to the loading dock, ducking out of sight of security more out of instinct than actual thought, because his mind was nothing but white static.  He hardly noticed that there was no one pursuing him, but then again they didn't need to, because Keith was empty-handed.

Keith barely glanced at his friends and Pidge's family, huddled in the back of the truck when he arrived.  Someone closed the door behind him, but he was already slumped against the wall, numb and unseeing.

Lance drove them to a safe house, temporary quarters while they regrouped.

It wasn't until someone steered him to a chair and gently urged him to sit that Keith sucked in a shuddery breath and focused.  It was Hunk, giving him a soft smile and not asking any questions yet, because Hunk was good like that.  Keith accepted the water Hunk offered him, giving him a quiet, "Thanks," in return.

Keith felt better after the water—more grounded, a little less hollow.

"I found the lab where Shiro was kept," Keith said quietly.  "It was wrecked, and there was a woman there.  She said she destroyed him.  But—but she wasn't _right_."  He glanced up at the concerned faces looking at him.  "She was crazed.  She was lying, or something.  She had to be."  He waited for a confirmation.

He got it in a nod from Sam Holt.  "That must've been Haggar."  He glanced over at Pidge, and then back at Keith.  "She was in charge of the project that created your Shiro—Pidge told us about him.  You're right, that woman isn't all there.  We didn't see much of her, but...we saw enough."

Keith bit his lip.  "Did you see—did she?  Is Shiro really—?"

"You have to understand, Keith, we weren't exactly free to move around the building."

Matt interjected.  "No, but we heard things.  The guards like to talk, maybe a little more than they should."

Sam's eyebrows twitched.  "That they do."

"I overheard them talking about Haggar's pet project, that one of the guards—Ulaz—turned coat to steal some tech, but ultimately failed."  Matt frowned.  "Someone said that Sendak destroyed the tech in the process, and Haggar was furious."

Hunk piped up, "But that wouldn't make sense."

"No," Pidge agreed.  "If that was Shiro, we know Ulaz got him out of there."

Keith tried not to let his chest swell too much with hope.  "So...she was mistaken."

Matt shrugged.  "Maybe Sendak lied?"

"Wait, if Sendak lied," Pidge said slowly, "then he would've known that Shiro was out there somewhere—"

"Which could explain why he had our shop under surveillance," Hunk finished.  "If he thought maybe Shiro might show up there."

Keith straightened.  "And you said Sendak hadn't had people watching you for a few days?"

"Well, he wouldn't have any reason to," Pidge said, "if he already knew where Shiro was.  If he already _had_ Shiro."

Keith's pulse roared in his ears.  "Do you think—but how would we find him?"

Hunk's hand settled on Keith's shoulder.  "We'll find him, buddy."

"Haggar—Haggar said Shiro was a failure.  You don't think she'd still..."  Keith couldn't bring himself to say _she'd still destroy Shiro_.

Pidge leveled a stare at Keith.  "I doubt it.  From what I know of him, Sendak's pragmatic.  Shiro is valuable—too valuable to destroy.  If anything, I could see him hiding Shiro from Haggar to turn a profit, himself."

Keith grit his teeth.  "Shiro's not a _thing_ to sell."  Pidge gave him a pointed look, and Keith was reminded that _he_ had considered selling Shiro, when he'd first found him.  But that had been _before_ he'd known.  "Whatever.  Let's just find Sendak."

.o.

Pinning down Sendak's location turned out to be much easier than tracking down the Holts or Shiro.

He was a semi-public figure, in that he represented Galra Industries in the business transactions that weren't important enough for Zarkon to attend to personally, and he directed most of the company's legal department.  It was a matter of protecting proprietary information, and Sendak watched over it like a general: imperious and unflinching.  He wasn't important enough to gain the constant media attention that fell on Zarkon and his immediate family, and it seemed that Sendak worked that to his advantage.

It was probably how Sendak managed to avoid attention enough to hide Shiro from the public eye, if he did in fact have Shiro.  They couldn't confirm it.  Yet.

It worked to _their_ advantage that Sendak wasn't exactly well-liked by the public.  Most people were happy to tell Keith where they'd seen Sendak, and what suspicious thing he'd been up to—and those that were reticent found their tongues with a transfer of a handful of credits.

The Holts were still in hiding at the safe house, but they were supplied with a full computing system from Lance's stores, hard at work hacking into Sendak's accounts.  Kolivan passed on what he knew.

It only took a day.

To Keith, that was still too long.

Keith stalked Sendak—on his bike, when he could, but on foot when the man pushed into an opulent building.  Keith hardly paused at security, trusting Pidge's tech to get him through (and it did) so he could keep up his pursuit.  He cursed silently when Sendak stepped into a gilded elevator, because it would be too conspicuous to follow him in, but Pidge was already muttering in his ear through the comms.

"I can track him through the building, I just need a few minutes to hack into the security system.  This place is owned by Galra, so it might be a bit tougher than a civilian residence."  Keith could hear the clack of keys over his earpiece.  "Just blend in in the meantime."

Keith pressed his lips into a tight line, holding back a retort about _blending in_ when he clearly wasn't dressed for a place this fancy.  Still, no one challenged his presence, and there were enough people milling about in the lobby that he could at least make an effort at melting into the crowd.  He tried not to pace impatiently, and was mostly successful, if only because he'd attached himself at the back of a group of milling people.

Pidge's voice was in his ear, startling Keith enough that it took an effort not to jump.  "Alright, Keith, take the elevator down, there's a sub-level that Sendak keyed into, B5.  The device I gave you should be able to get you in."  Keith hummed and started toward the elevator.  "I'm not sure the comms will be able to get through that far down, though, so I'm patching an interactive map to your phone.  I'll mark Sendak's location—and we've got a couple of Blades on their way to back you up, just in case."

The elevator was empty, and Keith fidgeted as it descended.  They still hadn't confirmed that Shiro was _here_ , but it was the closest he'd come to finding even a clue since Shiro's disappearance.

The descent was silent, all high-end technology making it smooth and, Keith thought, ominous.  It was an example of Galra tech at its finest, perfection created through corporate corruption, and it made his skin crawl.  He tried to shake it off when the doors parted and he stepped off, but the corridor it opened into was sterile and cold and uninviting.

The hall was empty except for the heavy doors lining it—and Sendak had to be behind one of them.  With any luck, so was Shiro.  Keith tapped on the comms in his ear.  "Pidge, do you read?"  He was met with silence.  It wasn't unexpected, though, and he sent a quiet thanks to her quick-thinking as he pulled out his phone to check the map Pidge had sent over.  There was a caricature of Sendak on the map, in a room on the left, and Keith hurried towards it, hands shaking as he held Pidge's device up to take care of the lock.

The door opened to a lab, not unlike the ones at Galra HQ, inactive sentinels around the walls and a bank of computers in a semi-circle around—around—

 _Shiro_.

Keith's throat went dry as he stared.  He was sure it was Shiro, but a part of him was struggling to accept that this was him because it _hurt_ to look at.

Shiro was strapped to an exam table—most of him was, anyway.  The prosthetic that Keith so painstakingly attached to replace his missing arm had been removed, the wires severed and temporary connections clipped on the ends in their place, trailing off to one of the computers.  Panels were missing from his chest and head, exposing the most fragile parts of his circuitry, frayed fios lining the edges of the openings.

Galra droids weren't meant to be serviced.  They didn't have access panels, they weren't meant to be _opened up_ like—like—

 _Like a dissection_ , Keith thought, and he fought not to be sick.

Sendak was standing over Shiro with his back turned to the door, tablet in hand, tapping and muttering, and Keith felt a kind of numbness settle over him when Shiro's eyes widened, his whole body arching against the straps holding him down before a ragged _scream_ tore from his throat.  Sendak cut Shiro's scream off with a casual backhand across his face.  He was saying something to Shiro, voice cold, but Keith's ears were ringing, rage and hurt turning all of his nerves to fire, and before Keith knew what he was doing, he was lunging forward—

Sendak was a solid mass of muscle, but Keith was fast and silent and driven by desperation, his knife in his hand without a thought.  Sendak grunted when Keith collided with him, stumbled and shouted something, but Keith twisted his wrist, driving his knife deeper, into something _vital_ , and Sendak was crumpling to the floor, red rapidly soaking his clothes and spilling on the ground, coating Keith's hand.

Keith yanked his knife free, unwilling to let it go despite how much his hands were shaking, and turned to Shiro.

He wiped the blade and his hand against his jeans hastily, before slicing through the straps holding Shiro down.  Keith tried not to think of how easily the knife had driven into Sendak, or of how the blood was already turning tacky on the knife's grip.  He could almost forget about Sendak if he focused on the ragged rise-and-fall of Shiro's chest, the synthetic organs bright and glistening in the open air, but that was even worse.

Shiro's eyes had flown shut, so Keith focused on that, instead, reaching a hand out to cup Shiro's cheek.  He smudged blood on Shiro's face, but somehow that made it easier to look at him.  "Shiro, hey, it's me, it's Keith."

Shiro cracked his eyes open, and stared at Keith.  "Keith."  He gave a watery smile that melted into a grimace.  "You found me."

Keith stroked his thumb over Shiro's cheek.  "Yeah.  I found you."  He pursed his lips, trying to think, but his mind couldn't seem to settle on any course of action.  They had to get out of here, but Shiro was still in pieces, and Sendak was bleeding out on the floor and some of it was still on Keith and there was no way he wouldn't attract attention if he and Shiro tried to leave like this, but _they had to get out_ —

"Keith.  Keith, breathe."  Shiro's voice brought Keith back to the present, and he dragged in a lungful of air, his head spinning.

Keith gulped in more air, focusing on the hand Shiro had wrapped around his wrist.  He only had one, Keith thought numbly, and he had to be hurting, this was _extensive damage_ , but here he was trying to calm Keith.  "I'm—"  Keith shook his head, trying to clear it.  "I'm going to patch you up."  He finally broke his gaze away from Shiro to take stock of the room they were in.  Galra Industries didn't bother repairing things, but Keith had been improvising his entire life, and there were enough supplies in here to make do.  "You can adjust the damage input, right?  Dial it back."  Keith moved to one of the shelves, loading his arms up with anything that could be useful.

"I can't."

Keith turned back to Shiro, biting his lip.  "You can't?  Is it—is it because of what Sendak was doing?"

Shiro's expression was pinched.  "I don't know."  He gave Keith another one of those weak smiles.  "I'm not worried about it.  Just do what you have to do.  I trust you."

Keith frowned, but he wasn't equipped to do more than minor repairs in here.  Enough to seal up the panels Sendak had cut open, maybe reattach Shiro's arm—though that was much less likely unless Keith could ensure that they were uninterrupted.  "Fine."

It was easier to block out where they were while Keith focused on piecing Shiro back together.  Easier to ignore Sendak's body on the floor, and the fact that Keith had been the one to kill him.  He didn't feel remorse about it—he'd only acted on instinct at seeing Shiro hurting—just..shocky.  Staticky.  But he didn't have the time for it when he needed to get Shiro operational enough to walk out of here.

Shiro was just sitting up, nearly whole again except for his arm, when the door opened.  It was silent, but Keith saw it in his peripheries and was twisting to face it, knife in hand as he stood between Shiro and the open door.

Keith's energy left him in a sigh of relief at the sight of Kolivan striding through it, stern eyes sweeping the room.

Everything that came after was a blur.  Kolivan's deep voice, reassuring him with, "We'll take care of it," as he nudged Sendak's corpse with his boot.  Shiro pulling him into a one-armed hug and pressing lips against his temple.  A lithe man that Keith recognized as another member of the Blade of Marmora escorting Keith and Shiro deeper into the building, through a dark tunnel, and then into the back of a truck, murmuring instructions that Keith didn't hear.

Shiro, guiding him through the familiar clutter of the shop and into their apartment, to the bathroom, voice soft in Keith's ear.  "Keith, you can let go of the knife now.  It's okay."  Keith blinked and stared down at his hand, still curled around the hilt of his knife, dried blood smudged brown on his fingers and sticky under his palm, but couldn't seem to let it go.  Shiro reached out and gently pried Keith's fingers away, setting the knife within reach at the edge of the sink.

Keith dragged his eyes up to look at Shiro, confused.  "Shiro.  We need to get you back in the shop, your arm—"

Shiro shushed him, cupping Keith's face in his single hand.  "You're in shock, baby.  My arm can wait.  Let me take care of you."

Keith nodded, leaning into Shiro's hand until he took it away, but it was only gone for a second, Shiro turning his attention to helping Keith stumble out of his clothes and into the tub.  The hot water of the shower felt good against Keith's skin, chasing away the chill that Keith had barely noticed until now, rinsing blood that wasn't his down the drain.  Shiro was solid and warm and _there_ , and Keith leaned against him as Shiro scrubbed shampoo through his hair, fingers soothing on Keith, washing away the fear-sweat, too, all care and gentleness.

When Shiro was satisfied that Keith was clean, he bundled him into a towel and nudged him to their bed, heaping the blankets around Keith's shoulders.  Keith made a noise of protest when Shiro pulled away, but he was back in a moment, pressing a bottle of water into Keith's hands.  "Drink."  It was cold and sweet and refreshing, and cleared Keith's head for the first time since he'd stepped into the lab and found Shiro.

"I killed Sendak."  Keith tightened his grip on his bottle.

Shiro settled onto the bed behind Keith, wrapping his arm around Keith's chest.  "I know.  It's okay.  Kolivan and the Blades are taking care of it."

"Okay."  Keith didn't have the energy to think about it too deeply, exhaustion sapping his strength even as his mind tried to clamor for more.  He shifted, and Shiro's arm tightened around him.

"You need to rest, Keith.  Come on."  Shiro's voice was soft but commanding, and Keith found himself nodding in response, letting Shiro tug on him until they were both laying down, legs tangling together out of habit.  Shiro's arm was a reassuring weight over his waist, and Keith burrowed closer to him, humming when Shiro pressed a kiss to the top of his head.  "You saved me.  You're so strong, Keith, you did good.  You can rest, now."

Keith slipped into sleep to the sound of Shiro's praises and reassurances, warm and safe in his arms.

Shiro's, "I love you, baby," went unheard, or maybe Keith just dreamed it.


	5. Five

Shiro was still tucked close against Keith when he woke.  He was disoriented, at first, and a glance at his phone on the bedside table showed him why: he'd been asleep for nearly a whole day.  Keith struggled to sit up, his body protesting with aches and fatigue, and then Shiro curled his arm around him, preventing Keith from getting up altogether.  "Shiro..."  His voice came out in a croak, tongue thick in his mouth, and Keith grabbed the water bottle that was conveniently within reach, taking greedy gulps of it. 

"You need to rest, Keith.  You were exhausted."  Shiro shifted, propping himself up to look at Keith.  He looked all sleep-rumpled and soft, but most importantly, he was _safe_.  It was enough to make Keith relax back into his pillows.

Keith trailed a hand over Shiro's bare shoulder, and then down to his chest, where the skin was broken, a straight, deep cut from what had been done to him.  He glanced up from the damage to look at Shiro's face.  "Does it hurt?"

Shiro shrugged, the motion a little awkward from how he was propping himself up.  "I've felt worse.  Besides, I know you'll be able to fix me and make it better."  He gave Keith a pointed look.  "But not right now.  I'm not letting you leave this bed until you've recovered."

"I'm not even injured," Keith huffed, and that was true enough, but he could still feel the weakness lingering in his limbs—from a week of barely eating or sleeping, pushing himself past his limits, and then Sendak— _You're in shock, baby_ , Shiro had said.

"No," Shiro agreed.  "But you aren't well, either."

"But—"  Keith's eyes flicked to the ruin of Shiro's arm.  It was a cleaner removal than when Keith had first found him, but it still was a mess, and though it was wires there instead of flesh, it looked like it should _hurt_.

"I'm fine, Keith," Shiro murmured, and when Keith dragged his gaze back up to Shiro's face, he was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners.  "I'm happy, even."  He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to Keith's cheek.  He nudged his face into the crook of Keith's neck, his mouth by Keith's ear.  "I want to show you how happy I am," he whispered.  "I want you to let me take care of you."

Shiro's words made Keith's breath catch, a shiver crawling down his spine to settle as a heat low in his belly.  Shiro's words about not letting him out of bed took on a new meaning as his lips pressed against Keith's neck.  "Yeah, I—yeah, Shiro."

"Good."  Shiro caught Keith's lips in a kiss that was both searing and tender, slow and deep, catching Keith's bottom lip between his teeth.  Keith opened his mouth to him eagerly, desperate for proof of life after Shiro had spent a week at Sendak's mercy.  Shiro seemed to feel the same, shifting so he could climb onto Keith and straddle him.

They were both naked, having not bothered with clothes the night before, and Shiro was a sight, bridged above Keith like that.  He was beautiful, all toned muscle, and his perfectly sculpted cock curved hard and red against his belly.  Shiro shifted, and it brought their erections together in a delicious friction that made them both groan, but Shiro had a different goal at the moment.  He ran his hand over Keith's skin, the touch eager and deliberate, and paused to tweak one of Keith's nipples, pinching it while Keith squirmed under him.  " _Shiro—_ "

Shiro shushed him and caught one of Keith's hands, pressing it against his own chest.  Keith took the hint and spread his hands over Shiro's skin.  He slowed to trace his fingers delicately over the angry marks where Shiro had been cut open, freezing when Shiro sucked in a sharp breath.  "Does it hurt?"

But Shiro was already shaking his head, curling his hand around Keith's wrist to keep him from pulling back.  He caught Keith with a dark, hungry look.  "Feels good.  Your hands always feel good on me."

Keith licked his lips and nodded, letting his hands touch Shiro everywhere, curling around his back when Shiro leaned forward to kiss him again, trailing down to Shiro's hips to tug him in and meet the roll of Keith's hips until they were both gasping with hot friction.  Shiro cupped Keith's cheek in his hand, thumb tracing Keith's lips until he opened his mouth for him and he could press it in, against Keith's tongue, and Keith moaned for it, laving Shiro's thumb in a way that was probably more than a little dirty, but mostly just felt _good_.

"I want—"  Shiro's voice trailed off in a groan as Keith wrapped a hand around them both, squeezing as he adjusted his grip, but Shiro tugged Keith's hand back off, shaking his head.  "No, Keith, I want—I wanna try something."

Keith looked up at him, taking in the intent expression on his face, his heaving chest.  It was enough to reassure him that he hadn't done something wrong.  "What?"

Shiro shifted on his knees, pulling away from Keith a fraction.  "I think—I think I don't need—" Shiro pulled Keith's hand, guiding it past his hip and back, curling Keith's fingers until—

" _Fuck_ , Shiro."  Keith pressed his fingers against Shiro's entrance, circling the tight pucker and marveling that it was already _slick_.  "You—"  Keith laughed, a breathless sound.  " _Fuck_ , is that standard?"  He brought his other hand around to pull Shiro's cheek aside while he pressed a finger into Shiro.  It went easily, and Keith pushed another one in, teasing Shiro with gentle thrusts that he rocked back on.

"Who cares?"  Shiro's words came out breathless, and he was leaning down to murmur against Keith's ear again, "Will you let me ride you like this?"

Keith let out a strangled noise, his fingers curling inside Shiro involuntarily, and maybe Shiro wasn't human but there'd been no expense spared at making him anatomically correct, because Shiro cried out when the tips of Keith's fingers brushed against against something inside him.  "Please, yes, Shiro," he gasped, "let me fuck you."

Shiro shifted again, and he caught Keith's gaze.  "Can you...hold it for me?"  There was a vulnerability in his expression that Keith hadn't seen before, not like this, but Shiro didn't let it stop him.  Keith was so caught up in his eyes that it took him a moment to catch Shiro's meaning, and he withdrew his fingers from Shiro to wrap around himself.  Shiro braced his hand on Keith's chest, and shifted his hips.  It was slick, and Keith squeezed his hand tight around his cock to keep himself in check as Shiro sank down.

They both hissed when the blunt head of Keith's cock nudged up against Shiro's hole, and then pushed in, a slow, delicious slide until he bottomed out.  Shiro loomed over him, panting, and it was the most beautiful thing Keith had ever seen.  Keith said as much, running his hands over Shiro's thighs, kneading his thumbs over his hips.  "So beautiful," he repeated, and then Shiro rocked his hips, and Keith lost the capability to speak, only moans tumbling past his lips as Shiro rose and fell over him.

It was slow, at first, Keith rolling his hips to meet Shiro's with each lazy thrust, languid breathless kisses that turned messy and uncoordinated, more tongue and teeth than anything, the room echoing with the sounds of their lovemaking.

Because that's what it was, Keith realized.  This slow, burning thing that was nothing except organic and real.  The thought made it all the more intense, and he clutched at Shiro's hips, his thrusts growing erratic in time, pulling Shiro down to meet him until Shiro caught the new rhythm and drove himself down, hard and fast.  Keith echoed Shiro's moans, pleasure coursing through him until he thought he would drown in it, and he wanted Shiro to, too, so he wrapped his hand around Shiro's beautiful cock—

It was all Shiro needed to tip over the edge, come spilling over Keith's fingers in hot spurts, his body clenching around Keith, and Keith followed, caught up in the aftershocks of Shiro's pleasure.

Shiro arched over him, nuzzling Keith's neck and pressing little kisses there and humming pleased sounds that tickled against Keith's skin.  Keith tilted his head to give him better access, panting and buzzing with afterglow.  He hissed when Shiro pulled off, but it was only to settle in and cuddle up to Keith's side, fingers stroking idly over Keith's stomach.  Keith smiled and buried his fingers in Shiro's hair, stroking his scalp.

"You know," Keith said some time later, "I'm not really used to letting someone take care of me."  They were still curled up in bed.  Black and Red had joined them, at some point, once things had quieted down, and it was the kind of bliss that Keith might never have imagined.  Certainly not with an android, but Shiro could hardly be called that.

Shiro chuckled.  "I've noticed."

Keith hummed.  "I guess it's okay, though, if we take care of each other."  He let his fingers trail over Shiro's right shoulder, stroking the skin and stopping just before the damage.  "I'm going to fix this."

Shiro pressed a kiss to Keith's lips.  "Later."

Keith raised an eyebrow at Shiro's wandering hand.  "What, you want to fuck again?"

"No," Shiro murmured, "I want to make love to you again."

Keith inhaled sharply.  "Where do you even learn these things?"  Shiro paused to give Keith a steady look, and there was something in his expression that Keith recognized, that made him crumple at the force of it.  He licked his lips and nodded.  "Yeah, okay."  And Shiro hadn't asked for it, but Keith didn't have any problem saying it: "I love you, Shiro."

"I love you, too, baby."

.o.

Shiro's prosthetic had survived the ordeal with less damage than Shiro himself, which was a relief, because Keith didn't have the energy to procure a new one.

He was in the process of re-attaching it to Shiro, cursing Sendak's eternal soul, when Pidge, Hunk, and Lance walked in.  Allura and Coran followed close behind, and Keith glanced up, eyebrows rising.

It had been surprisingly quiet since Keith woke up—no retribution came for him for Sendak's murder—and laying low seemed like the appropriate reaction in this case.  If he'd spent much of that time tangled in the sheets with Shiro, well, that was a coincidence.  Probably.

Keith turned back to the wiring on Shiro's arm, squeezing his thigh reassuringly when Shiro hissed in pain.  "You guys already come up with a plan to smuggle us out of the city?  That was fast."

Allura's voice was as smooth and calm as every other time it had been when Keith met her.  "There will be no need for that."

"Which is a shame, because I was going to charge you double," Lance quipped, but a look from Allura had his face reddening.  "I mean, uh.  I would've done it for free, because we're friends."

Keith rolled his eyes.  "Right."

"I got your message about the diagnostic," Pidge said, swinging her bag forward for emphasis.

Keith frowned.  "I didn't send a message."

"I did."  Shiro's voice was strained, but he ruffled Keith's hair with his hand.  "Just in case."

Keith scowled up at him.  "I thought you said you were fine."

"I am fine.  Pidge just has a different skill set than you."

Keith's scowl deepened, but he couldn't deny it.  He turned back to their visitors.  "So.  Alright.  Pidge can run the diagnostic, but why are the rest of you here?"

Hunk raised his hand.  "I brought some food.  I figured you'd be hungry?  You're not exactly the best cook, Keith."  He glanced at Shiro.  "And I don't know if this guy even knows how to cook."

"I could learn."

Hunk gave Shiro a skeptical look.  "Right, well anyway, Allura is here to give you the capital-O, capital-U, Official Update about Galra Industries and Voltron, and Coran came because he wanted some casserole and Lance came because Allura came."  Hunk beamed.  "I'm going to go heat this up so we can all dig in."  He shouldered his thermal bag and made for the back of the shop, pausing to scratch Black under the chin.

"Thank you, Hunk," Allura said graciously.  "As you can imagine, Sendak's death has caused quite a stir for Galra Industries—but not for the reason you'd expect.  Kolivan arrived on site shortly after you, Keith, and fortunately he was able to call in the Blades of Marmora to help stage the scene so that Sendak's death looked like an accident."  She folded her hands in front of her.  "There were several sentinels in the lab where you found Shiro and Sendak, and it was easy enough to make it look like the sentinels were responsible."

Pidge cleared her throat from behind her tablet.  "Not _that_ easy."

"Not that easy," Allura agreed.  "Thanks to Pidge's quick thinking, the sentinels' programming reflected a...shall we say, fatal malfunction."  Pidge snickered at the pun.  "As a result, Galra Industries has come under the scrutiny of the media.  They're deflecting by beginning an investigation in internal affairs, but it's still a bit of a blow to the company's reputation."

Keith snorted.  "Like that's ever stopped them before."

"It's a start."  Allura shook her head.  "Perhaps if they had some competition within the industry, now would be a good time to step up."

Keith glanced at Coran, who was twirling his mustache.  "You mean your father's designs for Voltron."

Allura beamed, clapping her hands together.  "Yes, exactly!  Altea Enterprises may not be what it was under my father's guidance, but I hope to bring it back to strength, to give Galra Industries a real run for its money.  Not just with Voltron, but with many of the things Galra neglects."  She gestured to the tool in Keith's hand.  "Such as products that are affordable and easy to repair."

"Shiro's not a product," Keith growled.  Shiro nudged Keith with his foot, a quiet gesture to let him know it was _fine_.

"No, of course not.  I mean in general.  There are a lot of household bots whose longevity could be extended.  Like you guys already do."

Keith shrugged.  "I don't need a sales pitch.  I just don't want to be tried for murder.  That asshole deserved what he got."  His hand tightened on the tool in his hand, and he forced himself to relax.

Allura's mouth twisted delicately.  "Well, as it is, no one has questioned the narrative."

"They won't."  Pidge stood back from where she'd been attaching diodes to Shiro's chest.  "Even if someone does find a flaw in it, I put in fail-safes."

"So we won't get arrested if we go out on the street," Keith deadpanned.

"No."  Pidge tapped at her tablet.  "And there's no one else looking for Shiro.  Haggar thinks he's been destroyed, and Sendak was very tight-lipped about him.  Which, by the way, Dad and Matt have been helping me analyze Shiro's previous diagnostics."  Her brow furrowed, and she paused, giving Keith a guilty look.  "They said they had already suspected Shiro gained sentience from what they learned at Galra Industries."

Keith shifted in his chair, twisting to face her fully.  "It's fine, Pidge.  It took me a while to accept it, too."

Pidge glanced between Keith and Shiro, her eyes narrowing.  "Ah."

Allura watched the exchange curiously.  "What do you mean, _'Ah_?'"

Coran opened his mouth to say something, but Hunk was coming through the door at the back of the shop, casserole dish cradled in padded gloves, and Keith cleared his throat loudly.  "Hunk, did you make macaroni and cheese?"

Shiro perked up visibly.  "Macaroni and cheese?"

Lance interjected.  "Hey!  You're an android, you don't need to eat."  Keith glared at him until he wilted.  "Or do you?"

Shiro exchanged a look with Keith, and before he could go into his spiel about biomass as fuel, Keith set aside his tools and stood up, arms crossed and scowling at Lance.  "And you weren't invited, so you don't need to eat, either."

"Keith," Shiro chided, "you don't have to be mean."

Allura said, " _Oh_ ," somewhere in the background, but Keith was too busy dishing up mac n cheese for Shiro to pay much attention to whatever she and Pidge were whispering about.

Shiro was visibly giddy, eyes bright, and he tugged Keith into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  “Mmm, thank you, Keith.  It looks so good.”

Keith snorted and half-heartedly shrugged him off; Shiro ignored the effort and tightened his arm around him.  “I can’t serve you if you’re hanging all over me, Shiro.”  He didn’t bother reminding Shiro that Hunk had been the one to cook, because Keith knew that wasn’t what Shiro was thanking him for.

Shiro leaned in until his mouth was next to Keith’s ear, “Maybe I could serve you, then.”

There was no mistaking the suggestion, and Keith froze, face going hot, and he was hyperaware of the eyes of their friends on them.  Keith coughed in an attempt to hide it, muttering, “Later,” as he pushed Shiro’s bowl into his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come scream with me about Sheith on [tumblr](http://sylvermyth.tumblr.com)!


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